I looked at the paper. I saw my own promise and signature; underneath it was stated that the money had been paid by Peter Trevisa, and signed "Edward Prideaux."
I flung it at him. "There," I said, "you've forged the last link in your chain now. I am quite prepared for what I have no doubt you will do. Trevanion is yours. Well, have it; may it bring you as much joy as it has brought me."
"You misjudge me," cried old Peter. "You misjudge both me and my son. True, Trevanion would be a fine place for my lad, but then I should not like to drive you away from your old home. All the Trevanions would turn in their graves if any one else lived there. I want to be your friend. I desire to help you on to your feet again."
"Wind!" I cried. "Trust you to help any man!"
"Listen to what my father has to say," cried young Peter. "You will see that we both wish to be friendly."
His face was partly hidden; nevertheless I saw the curious light shining from his eyes. He was undersized, this young Peter, just as his father was. A foxy expression was on his face, and his mouth betrayed his nature. He was cunning and sensual. His was not unlike a monkey's face. His forehead receded, his lips were thick, his ears large.
"Roger Trevanion, my lad, there is no reason why you should have to leave your old home. Nay, there is no reason why you should not be better off than you have been. That is why I got this paper from Edward Prideaux."
Old Peter spoke slowly, looking at me from the corner of his eyes.
"You want me to do something," I said after a minute's silence.