“Perhaps,” responded Bentham sententiously—“it would be as well to mention it.”
I glanced from one to the other, not understanding what they meant. Mr Ellis rubbed his hands and smiled deprecatingly.
“The fact is Mr Tempest, your deceased relative had one very curious idea—he was a shrewd man and a clever one, but he certainly had one very curious idea—and perhaps if he had followed it up to any extent, it might—yes, it might have landed him in a lunatic asylum and prevented his disposing of his extensive fortune in the—er—the very just and reasonable manner he has done. Happily for himself and—er—for you, he did not follow it up, and to the last he retained his admirable business qualities and high sense of rectitude. But I do not think he ever quite dispossessed himself of the idea itself, did he Bentham?”
Bentham gazed meditatively at the round black mark of the gas-burner where it darkened the ceiling.
“I think not,—no, I think not,” he answered—“I believe he was perfectly convinced of it.”
“And what was it?” I asked, getting impatient—“Did he want to bring out some patent?—a new notion for a flying-machine, and get rid of his money in that way?”
“No, no, no!” and Mr Ellis laughed a soft pleasant little laugh over my suggestion—“No, my dear sir—nothing of a purely mechanical or commercial turn captivated his imagination. He was too,—er—yes, I think I may say too profoundly opposed to what is called ‘progress’ in the world [p 49] to aid it by any new invention or other means whatever. You see it is a little awkward for me to explain to you what really seems to be the most absurd and fantastic notion,—but—to begin with, we never really knew how he made his money, did we Bentham?”
Bentham shook his head and pursed his lips closely together.
“We had to take charge of large sums, and advise as to investments and other matters,—but it was not our business to inquire where the cash came from in the first place, was it, Bentham?”
Again Bentham shook his head solemnly.