"Have I, then," he said, "your Majesty's permission to depart? I have given my last answer."
"You have it," said Auberon, smiling, but not lifting his eyes from the table. And amid a dead silence the Provost of Notting Hill passed out of the room.
"Well?" said Wilson, turning round to Barker—"well?"
Barker shook his head desperately.
"The man ought to be in an asylum," he said. "But one thing is clear—we need not bother further about him. The man can be treated as mad."
"Of course," said Buck, turning to him with sombre decisiveness. "You're perfectly right, Barker. He is a good enough fellow, but he can be treated as mad. Let's put it in simple form. Go and tell any twelve men in any town, go and tell any doctor in any town, that there is a man offered fifteen hundred pounds for a thing he could sell commonly for four hundred, and that when asked for a reason for not accepting it he pleads the inviolate sanctity of Notting Hill and calls it the Holy Mountain. What would they say? What more can we have on our side than the common sense of everybody? On what else do all laws rest? I'll tell you, Barker, what's better than any further discussion. Let's send in workmen on the spot to pull down Pump Street. And if old Wayne says a word, arrest him as a lunatic. That's all."
Barker's eyes kindled.
"I always regarded you, Buck, if you don't mind my saying so, as a very strong man. I'll follow you."
"So, of course, will I," said Wilson.
Buck rose again impulsively.