"Take it away," the old gentleman screamed. "Take it away, and take yourself away with it. Who are you? What do you mean by coming here and visiting my niece and keeping a taxi buzzing outside the gate? Do you realize that it's costing a penny a minute? Take it away!" Harry looked at Jasmine, and she signed to him that it would be right to humour her uncle. She really was afraid that he was going to have a fit. "Perhaps I may call another day?" the young man suggested in a despondent tone of voice. "Certainly not. You'll be driving up next in a golden coach. If you want to squander your money, squander it some other way." It was useless to argue with the infuriated old gentleman, and Vibart took himself off. "That's the last I shall see of him," thought Jasmine, turning sadly to follow her uncle into the house. Later on, however, when Uncle Matthew had recovered from the shock to his parsimony, he enquired who her visitor was, and she thought that she was able to reassure him. "Well," said the old gentleman, "perhaps I was a little hasty. Yes, I think I was. Does he smoke?" "Not cigars," said Jasmine quickly. "At least I've never seen him smoking a cigar." "He can come and see you twice a week. Once in the morning and once in the afternoon. And then perhaps later on we'll ask him to lunch. But don't count on that. And now come and sit with me in the smoking-room. Because I must smoke a cigar to calm my nerves after that shock." They passed out into the hall, and on his way through Uncle Matthew cast a glance, as his custom was, at the numerous walking-sticks. "Whose is this?" he asked, picking a malacca from the stand. "H. V." he read. "This is your friend's. You see, my dear, he's careless through and through. I never left a walking-stick in somebody else's house. Never in all my life." "I think you made him rather nervous," Jasmine explained apologetically. But the old gentleman paid no attention: he was searching for something he missed. "Where is it?" "Where's what?" "Clara's silver-handled cane." "I don't see it," Jasmine stammered apprehensively. "It's gone. That villain must have stolen it." "If Mr. Vibart has taken one of your sticks, Uncle Matthew, he must have done so by mistake." "The young scoundrel! The young blackguard!" He became incoherent with rage. "But, Uncle Matthew, if he has taken one of your sticks he'll bring it back." "Hers! Hers!" the old gentleman was gasping. "Oh, dear Uncle Matthew, I'm so dreadfully sorry." "My poor little wife's! He's taken my poor little wife's silver-handled cane. And she was so fond of it. Her favourite. The ruffian! The--the--tramp! He might have taken any other but that. Oh dear! Oh damn! Why do you bring these people here, you abominable girl?"