"Then it must be our business to establish a secret chain of communication with his household," answered Victor. "He has some confidential servant, I suppose?" "Yes; he has a valet, called Millard, whom he trusts as far as he trusts any dependent; but he is not a man who talks to his servants." "Perhaps not; but servants have a way of their own of getting at information, and depend upon it, Mr. Millard knows more of your uncle's business than Sir Oswald would wish him to know. We must get hold of this faithful Millard." "But he is a very faithful fellow--honesty itself--the pink of fidelity." "Humph!" muttered the young surgeon; "did you ever try the effect of a bribe on this pink of fidelity?" "Never." "Then you know nothing about him. Remember what Sir Robert Walpole said, 'Every man has his price.' We must find out the price of Mr. Millard." "You are a wonderful fellow, Carrington." "You think so? Bah, I keep my eyes open, that's all; other men go through the world with their eyes half-shut. I graduated in a good school, and I may, perhaps, have been a tolerably apt pupil?" "What school?" "The school of poverty. That's the sort of education that sharpens a man's intellect. My father was a reprobate and a gamester, and I knew at an early age that I had nothing to hope for from him. I have had my own way to carve in life, and if I have as yet made small progress, I have fought against terrible odds." "I wonder you don't set up in a professional career," said Mr. Eversleigh; "you have finished your education; obtained your degree. What are you waiting for?" "I am waiting for my chances," answered Victor; "I don't care to begin the jog-trot career in which other men toil for twenty years or so, before they attain anything like prosperity. I have studied as few men of five-and-twenty have studied,--chemistry as well as surgery. I can afford to wait my chances. I pick up a few pounds a week by writing for the medical journals, and with that resource and occasional luck with cards, I can very easily support the simple home in which my mother and I live. In the meantime, I am free, and believe me, my dear Reginald, there is nothing so precious as freedom." "And you will not desert me now that I am down in the world, eh, old fellow?" "No, Reginald, I will never desert you while you have the chance of succeeding to forty thousand a year," answered the surgeon, with a laugh. His small black eyes flashed and sparkled as he laughed. Reginald looked at him with a sensation that was almost fear. "What a fellow you are, Carrington!" he exclaimed; "you don't pretend even to have a heart."