"I am--I always have been--and I always shall be, you bear that constantly in mind. Why can't you say what you want? If it is prussic acid to use upon yourself I'll give you money enough to buy a barrelful." The expression of Mr. Lamb's countenance was sullen, so also was the tone of his voice, which perhaps on the whole was not to be wondered at. "I want to go to the Riviera." "That means Monte Carlo. Well go--at once--and never come back again." "If you'll give me the coin I'll start in a jiffy." "How much do you want?" "I daresay I could manage with a thousand. I've hit upon a system." "You've hit upon a system!" "If you'll only keep still for a moment I'll tell you what it is, and then you'll see for yourself it's an absolute cert. I'll turn the thou. into fifty in less than no time. I can't help doing it!--you see!--and then I'll give you half." "You'll give me half! Then am I to understand that you won't go unless I give you a thousand pounds?" "I couldn't do it on less--the system I mean. I've worked out all the details and I really couldn't. I'll show you if you like. It's want of capital that wrecks a man in a thing like this. If you haven't got the proper amount--the lowest possible amount that's absolutely necessary--you might as well throw your money into the sea." "Then you'll never go at all, because I haven't a thousand pounds to give you." "What do you mean?" "It's simple. I don't think I've fifty pounds at my bankers, and I'm pretty sure that they won't honour my cheque if I overdraw." "Isabel!" "You owe money, don't you?" "I daresay I owe a bit here and there." "So I've been given to understand. I also owe a bit. And my creditors, like yours, won't wait." "Mine will have to." "Will they? I thought that was just what they wouldn't do." "Who's been telling you tales about me?" "A little bird. So you see, Gregory, I'm more in want of a thousand pounds, because you can't carry on a house like this for long on fifty pounds, even if I have so much at the bank, which, as I say, I doubt." "Fifty pounds! You're playing the fool with me--it's a favourite game of yours. What's become of the quarter of a million you told me that man Grahame had left you?" "That's what I should like to know." "You don't mean you've spent it? You can't have done--not in the time." "I've never had it to spend." "What rot are you talking? What game are you playing? Have you all along been telling me nothing but lies?" "Cuthbert Grahame told me himself that he was worth more than a quarter of a million; soon after he died I told you that only a small portion of the money could be found." "You told me nothing of the kind--you've never told me anything. Whenever I asked you a question you've always shut me up. You've kept me all along in the dark." "Then I tell you now. Only a small sum was ever found, and that's been spent--and more than spent."