I bowed.
‘It is a pity the sword shouldn’t be yours.’
‘It is mine, Sir Giles—though, as I said, I am prepared to abide by your decision.’
‘And now I remember;—the old man resumed, after a moment’s thought—‘the other evening Mr Alderforge—a man of great learning, Mr Cumbermede—told us that the name of Cumbermede had at one time belonged to our family. It is all very strange. I confess I am utterly bewildered.’
‘At least you can understand, sir, how a man of imagination, like Mr Cumbermede here, might desire to possess himself of a weapon which bears his initials, and belonged two hundred years ago to a baronet of the same name as himself—a circumstance which, notwithstanding it is by no means a common name, is not quite so strange as at first sight appears—that is, if all reports are true.’
I did not in the least understand his drift; neither did I care to inquire into it now.
‘Were you aware of this, Mr Cumbermede?’ asked his father.
‘No, Sir Giles,’ I answered.
‘Mr Cumbermede has had the run of the place for weeks. I am sorry I was not at home. This book was lying all the time on the table in the room above, where poor old Close’s work-bench and polishing-wheel are still standing.’
‘Mr Brotherton, this gets beyond bearing,’ I cried. ‘Nothing but the presence of your father, to whom I am indebted for much kindness, protects you.’