"I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose John that if there was a murder, he--"
"No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But that Mandarin--"
"Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him."
"So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death fifteen years ago, he's been back several times."
"Well I'll speak to him, John."
"And about the money, sir?"
Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll have to give up Royabay to the creditors."
"Never--never--that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years."
"I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep the Abbey and we could live quietly."
"We sir?" asked the old man raising his head.