"Certainly it is," said Sir Geoffrey grimly.
"But you can't make a convict of my brother, and your nephew!"
"Our relationship to him is our misfortune," said Sir Geoffrey, "not our fault. I shall do what I say."
"Look here, Uncle Geoffrey," said Ralph excitedly, "after all, this is largely my affair. I will give you back the hundred pounds—I've got the money now—and I will go to town at once and square accounts with Melville. Did he tell you where he was staying?"
"No," said his uncle; "I did not enquire."
"Well, I'm sure to get news of him at Jermyn Street, if he isn't actually there. Promise to abandon all idea of prosecution, and leave this in my hands. Promise?"
Sir Geoffrey looked with pleasure at his nephew as he stood erect before him, glowing with just indignation, but with chivalrous desire to spare his brother this crowning shame.
"How you two fellows are brothers passes my comprehension," he said. "Well, Ralph, I tell you what I will do. I'll give you a week—you need not go up to town again to-day, for that would be hard on Gwen. I'll give you a week, and if you can make Melville disgorge the money I'll take it back with uncommon satisfaction. If you fail, I reserve liberty of action."
"That's fair, I suppose," said Ralph reluctantly; then he added more hopefully, "but it will be all right; of course, it will be all right."
Sir Geoffrey shook his head doubtfully, but the mellow roar of the gong reverberated through the house announcing luncheon, and he welcomed the interruption.