"For having learned the truth," said Terry. "Also, for having a father who was a strong man." Vance could not resist the opening. "In a way, I suppose he was," he said dryly. "And if you look at it in that way, I do congratulate you, Terence!" "You've always hated me, Uncle Vance," Terry declared. "I've known it all these years. And I'll do without your congratulations." "You're wrong, Terry," said Vance. He kept his voice mild. "You're very wrong. But I'm old enough not to take offense at what a young spitfire says." "I suppose you are," retorted Terry, in a tone which implied that he himself would never reach that age. "And when a few years run by," went on Vance, "you'll change your viewpoint. In the meantime, my boy, let me give you this warning. No matter what you think about me, it is Elizabeth who counts." "Thanks. You need have no fear about my attitude to Aunt Elizabeth. You ought to know that I love her, and respect her." "Exactly. But you're headstrong, Terry. Very headstrong. And so is Elizabeth. Take your own case. She took you into the family for the sake of a theory. Did you know that?" The boy stiffened. "A theory?" "Quite so. She wished to prove that blood, after all, was more talk than a vital influence. So she took you in and gave you an imaginary line of ancestors with which you were entirely contented. But, after all, it has been twenty-four years of theory rather than twenty-four years of Terry. You understand?" "It's a rather nasty thing to hear," said Terence huskily. "Perhaps you're right. I don't know. Perhaps you're right." "And if her theory is proved wrong--look out, Terry! She'll throw you out of her life without a second thought." "Is that a threat?" "My dear boy, not by any means. You think I have hated you? Not at all. I have simply been indifferent. Now that you are in more or less trouble, you see that I come to you. And hereafter if there should be a crisis, you will see who is your true friend. Now, good night!" He had saved his most gracious speech until the very end, and after it he retired at once to leave Terence with the pleasant memory in his mind. For he had in his mind the idea of a perfect crime for which he would not be punished. He would turn Terry into a corpse or a killer, and in either case the youngster would never dream who had dealt the blow. No wonder, then, as he went downstairs, that he stepped onto the veranda for a few moments. The moon was just up beyond Mount Discovery; the valley unfolded like a dream. Never had the estate seemed so charming to Vance Cornish, for he felt that his hand was closing slowly around his inheritance. CHAPTER 10