“By the way, Romer, I have some personal news for you, which might have interested you more deeply than it is likely to do now that you have made your own fortune.”
“Yes?” asked Ned, curiously.
“Mr Rhodes has been home, and looking into your affairs. He always finds time to attend to the interests of those he takes in hand, with all his other big concerns.”
“And what has he discovered about me?”
“That your father first, and afterwards you, trusted as scoundrelly a thief as was ever transported, to manage your fortune.”
“Ah!”
“Yes; this Jabez Raymond, the solicitor, has robbed your late father and you systematically for many years, forging papers and creating mortgages wholesale. Mr Rhodes knew your father and the position he held during his life, so he set ruthlessly to work and unveiled the sanctimonious scoundrel. He is at present doing a seven years’ stretch at Dartmoor for his delinquencies, while your property is being looked after by a respectable agent. You are at present the possessor of a comfortable fifteen hundred per annum and a fine estate in Devon, free of all incumbrances. This, however, is a flea-bite to what you will have when these stones are sold.”
“Do you think they will realise much?”
“Two or three hundred thousand pounds at the least, I should say.”
“But by rights they belong to our employer, Mr Cecil Rhodes.”