“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said he. “Do you mean that joke I played on you all? I am the Earl of Rochester, this is my house, and I request you to leave it. Don’t speak. I know what you are going to say. You and your family will do this and you will do that. You will do nothing. Even if I were an impostor you would dare to do nothing. Your family washing is far, far too much soiled to expose it in public.
“If I were an impostor, who can say I have not played an honourable game? I have recovered valuable property—did I touch it and take it away? Did I expose to the public an affair that would have caused a scandal? You will do nothing and you know it. You did not even dare to tell the servants here what has happened, for the servant who let me in was not a bit surprised. Now, if you have finished your breakfast, will you kindly leave my house?”
Venetia rose and took up her book.
“Your house,” said she.
“Yes, my house. From this day forth, my house. But that is not all. To-morrow I will get lawyers to work and I’ll get apologies as big as houses from the whole lot of you—else I’ll prosecute.” He was getting angry, “prosecute you for doping me.” Recollections of the Barometer man’s advice came to him, “doping me in order to lay your hands on that million of money.”
He went to the bell and rang it.
“We want no scene before the servants,” said Venetia hurriedly.
“Then kindly go,” said Jones, “or you will have a perfect panorama before the servants.”
A servant entered.
“Send Church here,” said Jones. He was trembling like a furious dog.