There was a moment's embarrassing silence, for Alton said nothing further, and Deringham gazed at the man he had journeyed three thousand miles to see.
"I should like a little talk with you," he said presently.
"Can't oblige you," said the other. "I couldn't spare more than a minute now for a railroad director. You can tell me anything you want after supper."
Deringham lost a little of his usual serenity. "My business is of some importance," he said.
Alton smiled grimly. "I can't help that. So is mine," said he. "A lawyer, by the stamp of you. Well, you're trailing the wrong man, because I don't owe anybody money. We'll put you up to-night, and you can look for him to-morrow."
"I have come from Carnaby, England," said Deringham, watching the effect upon the man. "You are, I presume the grandson of its late owner."
This shot got home, but the effect was not altogether what Deringham had anticipated, for Alton's big hands tightened on the axe and his face grew very stern. "I'm not proud of the connection, anyway," he said. "Alton of Somasco is good enough for me."
"But," said Deringham quietly, "I have come to talk things over with you. Tristan Alton left you Carnaby."
Alton straightened himself a little and flung out an arm, while Deringham recognized the Alton pride as with a sweeping gesture he pointed to wide lake, forest-shrouded hillside, and the clearing in the valley.
"He turned out my father because he knew his mind, and now when there is no one else leaves me the played-out property. Thank God, I don't want it, while that's all mine," he said. "What brings you here to talk of Carnaby?"