Rowton was standing perfectly upright with his back to the wall. He was looking straight before him down the long vista of the room.
“Silver, you have disappointed me,” said Long John. “What I expected would happen, when you took it into your head to marry a wife, has happened. You are now half hearted, lukewarm. We don’t want lukewarm people here. Get you gone to Rowton Heights if you want to—that is, after you have delivered the swag to Scrivener and Simpkins. Yes, get you gone; take your holiday; kiss your wife, and make the most of her. Embrace your nephew, too, for if my plans are carried out, you won’t have him long. Now go. Hark ye, though, one moment. That safe was sent down to the Heights, was it not?”
“I ordered it, but cannot tell if it has arrived,” replied Rowton. “I have been out of England for a month, and during that time I have had no news.”
“The safe arrived weeks ago,” called out Scrivener from his seat by the fire.
“That’s right,” said Long John. “We can open up business in that neighbourhood next week. Go home, Silver. Your duty now is to entertain the county. Cease to be Silver, the head of our School, and assume your rightful name—Rowton, the heir to a fine old country estate, the owner of an ideal country house. Wake up the county, entertain them. Be the good old English squire; dispense hospitality right and left; use your wife as a bribe to induce the neighbours to come to your house. Be a complete blind yourself, and leave us to our work. We won’t trouble you for a time. We will respect your scruples and your fears.”
Piper’s lips smiled grimly as he uttered the last words, but his eyes looked gentle and refined.
“I have a word to say,” interrupted Rowton.
“What is that?”
“I return to Rowton Heights and I do exactly what you wish me to do, but only on a condition.”
“There you are with your conditions again,” laughed Scrivener.