"No good?"
"'Fraid not. It was hardly to be expected. Whatever you do, don't write."
"I won't."
Cranbourne glanced at the page again.
"This is your real name, I suppose."
Richard started, hesitated a bit, then nodded.
"There was a Frencham Altar mixed up in that Patagonian business."
"My father. Went broke and shot himself, you know."
"I remember. Left you on the rocks, so to speak."
"Yes, and wedged there good and hard. You see he aimed at my being a gentleman and nothing else—never was taught how to earn a living. That's why I'm cutting rather a deplorable figure now."