“That’s right,” said Long John. “We can open up business in that neighbourhood next week. Go home, Silver. Your duty now is to entertain the county. Cease to be Silver, the head of our School, and assume your rightful name—Rowton, the heir to a fine old country estate, the owner of an ideal country house. Wake up the county, entertain them. Be the good old English squire; dispense hospitality right and left; use your wife as a bribe to induce the neighbours to come to your house. Be a complete blind yourself, and leave us to our work. We won’t trouble you for a time. We will respect your scruples and your _fears_.” Piper’s lips smiled grimly as he uttered the last words, but his eyes looked gentle and refined. “I have a word to say,” interrupted Rowton. “What is that?” “I return to Rowton Heights and I do exactly what you wish me to do, but only on a condition.” “There you are with your conditions again,” laughed Scrivener. “Silence,” said Long John. “I do what you want, Piper, on one condition.” “Your position does not admit of conditions,” said Piper. “You are completely under my thumb. You dare not move an inch except as I will you—you know that.” [Illustration: “Your position does not admit of conditions; you are completely under my thumb.”—_Page 168._] “I do not.” “What does the fighting cock mean?” cried several voices. “I owe submission to none of you,” repeated Rowton. “There is always, you men understand, such a thing as throwing up the sponge. I am completely sick of this life. If you put the screw on too tight I throw up the sponge—_how_ I do it is my own affair.” The man standing there gloomy, defiant, his head thrown back, his bold eyes fixed on the pathetic and peculiar eyes of the chief, was a spectacle to bring forth admiration in the breasts of such men as were members of his School. There was absolute sincerity in Rowton’s tone. He was driven into a corner—he could turn round and show fight. To such a man suicide was more than possible. Suicide would be bad enough. Rowton was an important member of the School—his presence, his individuality, his life, were essential to the carrying on of the nefarious business. If he really threw up the sponge, danger might quickly accrue. “Your condition?” asked Long John. “I do what you wish,” continued Rowton, tugging at his moustache as he spoke; “I keep up this horrible farce, this tragedy of comedy, I put my powers, my genius, at your command, I blind the county and you can do your cursed will, provided you leave that lad of mine alone.” CHAPTER XX. A BLACK DIAMOND.