"Friends of mine have."
"Yes. They came just after I left."
The Baron knew that this statement was true. As his study of Willie Ruston progressed, he became inclined to think that it might be important. Mere right (so far as such a thing could be given by prior treaties) was not of much moment; but right and Ruston together might be formidable. Now the Baron (and his friends were friends much in the way, mutatis mutandis, that Mr. Wagg and Mr. Wenham were friends of the Marquis of Steyne, and may therefore drop out of consideration) was old and rich, and, by consequence, at a great disadvantage with a man who was young and poor.
"I don't see the bearing of that," he observed, having paused for a moment to consider all its bearings.
"It means that you can't have Omofaga," said Willie Ruston. "You were too late, you see."
The Baron smoked and drank and laughed.
"You're a young fool, my boy—or something quite different," said he, laying a hand on his companion's arm. Then he asked suddenly, "What about Dennisons?"
"They're behind me if——"
"Well?"