Arthur Prescott went up the same evening to Lowndes Square. The invalid had gone to bed, and Captain Bradshaw and Miss Heathcote were alone.
“Well, Mr. Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw said, after the first greetings, “I suppose you have no news to give us yet?”
“I have better than news, Captain Bradshaw; I have these to give you. There are all the proofs required in any court of law in the world to prove that James is your grandson and legitimate heir.”
“Really, Mr. Prescott?”
“Yes, really, Captain Bradshaw.”
“My dear sir,” the old man said, shaking him warmly by the hand, “I am delighted. I don’t know how to thank you. I have been thinking, since I saw you, that it would be necessary to come to terms with that scoundrel Barton, and I am very glad you took it upon yourself to act without asking me first. How much have you had to promise him? A heavy sum, of course; but I shan’t grudge it.”
“Not a very heavy amount, sir, considering their value. I shall want a cheque from you for fifty pounds.”
“Fifty pounds!” exclaimed Captain Bradshaw. “Do you mean to say Barton gave them up for fifty pounds?”
“No, that he did not,” Prescott laughed; “nor would he have given them up for much less than a hundred times that amount. If it is any satisfaction to you, Captain Bradshaw, Barton will not get one penny. I will tell you the whole story. But it is rather a long one, so you had better sit down to listen to it.”
So they sat down, Alice Heathcote putting aside the light work upon which she had been engaged. Prescott then told the story of his success, and when he had done Captain Bradshaw was in a state of the greatest delight.