“Do you know anything about him?” I asked.
“Not much. I believe he is rich—and respectable.”
“That is pretty evident, I think.”
“I am not sure. A man who spends a good deal of money is presumably rich; but it by no means follows that he is respectable. There are such people in the world as successful rogues and wealthy swindlers. Not that I think Mr. Fortescue is either one or the other. I learned, from the check he sent me for his subscription, who his bankers are, and through a friend of mine, who is intimate with one of the directors, I got a confidential report about him. It does not amount to much; but it is satisfactory so far as it goes. They say he is a man of large fortune, and, as they believe, highly respectable.”
“Is that all?”
“All there was in the report. But Tomlinson—that’s my friend—has heard that he has spent the greater part of his life abroad, and that he made his money in South America.”
The mention of South America interested me, for I had made voyages both to Rio de Janeiro and several places on the Spanish Main.
“South America is rather vague,” I observed. “You might almost as well say ‘Southern Asia.’ Have you any idea in what part of it?”
“Not the least. I have told you all I know. I should be glad to know more; but for the present it is quite enough for my purpose. I intend to call upon Mr. Fortescue.”
It is hardly necessary to say that I had no such intention, for having neither a “position in the county,” as the phrase goes, a house of my own, nor any official connection with the hunt, a call from me would probably have been regarded, and rightly so, as a piece of presumption. As it happened, however, I not only called on Mr. Fortescue before the secretary, but became his guest, greatly to my surprise, and, I have no doubt, to his, although he was the indirect cause; for had he not bought Ranger, it is very unlikely that I should have become an inmate of his house.