"Well, owing to the wreck, I am at this moment in borrowed clothes. I have only a few shillings in my pocket——"
"My dear sir," interrupted the lawyer, "that presents no difficulties. Let me give you an open cheque for two hundred—five hundred—pounds right away. Naturally, too, you will want to get clothes. You lost everything in the—the wreck; naturally you did. I had almost forgotten such things in the—the bigger matter. But that's all right. I have a private sitting-room here, and my tailor would be only too glad to come here right away. A most capable man. He would rig you out, temporarily, in a few hours, and afterwards——"
"That's all right," interrupted Dick; "but what next?"
"Take possession at once, my dear sir—at once."
"But I don't want anything to get into the papers."
"Certainly not—if we can help it. And I think we can. Shall I ring up my tailors? Yes?" And Mr. Bidlake took a telephone receiver into his hand. "That's all right," he added two minutes later. "Hucknell will be here in less than half an hour, and you can trust him to fix you up and tide you over the next few days. Yes, he will be glad to do so—very glad. Terrible business this industrial unrest, isn't it? I'm afraid it's going to take some settling. Of course, it's world wide, but I say, thank goodness our people have got more sense and more balance than those poor Russians."
The words were simple enough, and the expression was almost a commonplace, but Dick Faversham felt a sudden pain at his heart. He thought of the dark, mysterious man who claimed kinship with the great Russian House of Romanoff, and in a way he could not understand; the thought seemed to take away from the joyous excitement which filled his being at that moment. He wished he had never seen, never heard of Count Romanoff.
With an effort he shook off the cloud.
"You suggest that I go to Wendover Park at once?"
"Yes, say to-morrow morning. It is your right; in a way, it's your duty. The property is undeniably yours."