My lord wasted as much as three minutes on the consideration of this announcement, but arrived at the conclusion that there could be no truth in it. He could never be got to doubt his own powers.
It was understood in polite circles that Mr Rensley had had disturbing news from his lawyers regarding the claim. It was soon bruited abroad that these men thought some inquiry should be made into his lordship’s past before he should be positively declared Tremaine of Barham. My lord seemed to be quite content with this decision. He smiled, and put his finger-tips together as his habit was, and begged the lawyers to make what enquiries they would. Meanwhile he continued to parade the town.
Mr Rensley was soon infuriated to find that his supposed cousin’s past was hidden in an obscurity there seemed to be no hope of piercing. Inquiries led precisely nowhere. It was true that a Mr Challoner had once kept a gaming-house in Munich, and it was believed he had gone thence to Rome. But there could be found no trace of him in that ancient city. Indeed, how should there be? Had these seekers after truth mentioned the name of a German baron who had stayed in Rome some years ago they might have learned something of considerable interest from those who remembered that remarkable gentleman. But the seekers, unfortunately, had never heard of the baron, and they were forced to abandon the search for truth.
My lord was understood now to have two children. He spoke of them enthusiastically upon all occasions. Sir Anthony, hearing him, said humorously: “It seems you are to be congratulated, sir.”
“You have said it!” His lordship turned his compelling gaze upon the immovable large gentleman. “My daughter — my Prudence! A Venus!” He looked soulful. “I say it who should not. She favours her mother, my poor Maria. A statue carved in ivory and rose! A goddess, with a voice of gold! Soon you shall see her,” he promised.
“Egad, we’re agog to, sir!” said Mr Molyneux, smothering a grin. “And is your son thus godlike too?”
“My little Robin!” sighed his lordship. “He has not the height for it, alack! But he is well enough. To see him in the duello is to say he is incomparable. I pine to clasp them to me once more.”
“And — if one is permitted to ask,” said Sir Anthony, observing a speck of dust on his great cuff through a levelling quizzing-glass. “Where are these two paragons?”
“It is permitted. They stay with a friend in France. I send for them when this business is at an end.”
“Did you ever see or hear the like?” demanded Sir Raymond Orton when the old gentleman had gone.