"I heard a capital idea last night," resumed Arnold Jacks, "from a man I was dining with—interesting fellow called Hannaford. He suggested that Ireland should be made into a military and naval depot—used solely for that purpose. The details of his scheme were really very ingenious. He didn't propose to exterminate the natives——"
John Jacks interrupted with hilarity, which his son affected to resent: the look exchanged by the two making pleasant proof of how little their natural affection was disturbed by political and other differences. At the name of Hannaford, Otway had looked keenly towards the speaker.
"Is that Lee Hannaford?" he asked. "Oh, I know him. In fact, I'm living in his house just now."
Arnold was interested. He had only the slightest acquaintance with Hannaford, and would like to hear more of him.
"Not long ago," Piers responded, "he was a teacher of chemistry at Geneva—I got to know him there. He seems to speak half a dozen languages in perfection; I believe he was born in Switzerland. His house down in Surrey is a museum of modern weapons—a regular armoury. He has invented some new gun."
"So I gathered. And a new explosive, I'm told."
"I hope he doesn't store it in his house?" said Mr. Jacks, looking with concern at Piers.
"I've had a moment's uneasiness about that, now and then," Otway replied, laughing, "especially after hearing him talk."
"A tremendous fellow!" Arnold exclaimed admiringly. "He showed me, by sketch diagrams, how many men he could kill within a given space."
"If this gentleman were not your friend, Mr. Otway," began the host, "I should say——"