“I quite see,” said Godfrey, pulling at his short-cropped moustache.
Baltazar threw himself back in his chair. “Well, there it is. We’re father and son. Miss Baring has told you, from her point of view, why I threw over everything and disappeared. Her conjecture is absolutely correct. I must, however, say one thing to you, once and for all. I hadn’t the remotest idea that you were coming into the world. If I had, I should have remained and done my duty. I only heard of your existence a week ago—at Cambridge.”
“Yes?” said Godfrey.
“Let us come straight to the point then. You either believe me or disbelieve me. If you don’t believe me, nothing I can ever say or do will make you. If you do believe me, we can go ahead. It’s the vital point in our future relations. Speak out straight. Which is it?”
Godfrey looked for a few seconds into the luminous grey eyes—his own were somewhat hard—and then he said very deliberately:
“I certainly believe you. My conversations with Sister Baring made me take that particular point for granted.”
Baltazar drew a long breath.
“That’s all right, then. I think I also ought to assure you that beyond giving Cambridge a nine days’ wonder, I have done nothing to discredit the name of Baltazar. In China I had a position which no European to my knowledge has attained since Marco Polo. I left on account of the warring between two ideals—the Old China and the New. I belonged to the Old. I found I couldn’t find orientation unless I came West for it. I returned to England two years ago.”
“And you only went up to Cambridge last week?”
“Precisely. The intervening time I spent in a remarkable manner, which I’ll tell you about on another occasion. In the meanwhile we’re face to face with the overwhelming fact that I’ve discovered an unsuspected son, and you a legendary father. I’m fairly well off. So, I presume, are you. If you’re not, my means are yours. It’s well to clear the air, from the very beginning of any possible sordid bogies.”