‘I believe you,’ said Raphael. ‘I merely mention the course of my thoughts concerning you. I am fully convinced now that, despite certain unusual items connected with your visit, you are exactly what you said you were, and for my doubts I now offer apology. To tell you the truth, I inquired from the Williamson Company this morning as to you, and was quite reassured by what they said. But,’ Mr. Craig went on, with a very pronounced ‘but,’ interrupting Richard, who had embarked on some protest--‘but I have at the same time been forced to the conclusion, Mr. Redgrave, that my household, such as it is, and my ways, such as they are, have roused in you a curiosity which is scarcely worthy of yourself. I am a fairly good judge of character, and I know by infallible signs that you have a nature far above idle curiosity.’ ‘Thanks for your good opinion,’ said Richard; ‘but, to deal with your suspicions in their order, may I ask why you thought at first that I was an agent of Scotland Yard? Were you expecting Scotland Yard at Queen’s Farm?’ He could not avoid a faint ironic smile. Mr. Craig threw his cigar into the fireplace. ‘I was,’ said Raphael briefly, ‘and I will tell you why. Some time ago an uncle of mine died, at a great age, and left me a huge fortune. My uncle, Mr. Redgrave, was mad. For fifty years he had put all his savings into silver coins. He had once been in a Mexican silver-mine, and the experience in some mysterious way had affected his brain. Perhaps his brain was already affected. He lived for silver, and in half a century he collected more than half a million separate silver coins--all English, all current, all unused. This fortune he bequeathed to me. I was, in fact, his sole relative.’ ‘A strange old fellow he must have been,’ Richard remarked. ‘Yes,’ said Raphael. ‘But I am equally strange. I have said that my uncle had a mania. I, too, have that mania, for I tell you, Mr. Redgrave, that I cannot bring myself to part with those coins. I have the same madness for silver that my uncle had. Away from the silver, I can see myself steadily, can admit frankly to myself that on that one point my brain is, if you like the term, “touched.” In the presence of the silver I exist solely for it, and can think of nothing else.’ ‘Nevertheless,’ said Richard dispassionately, ‘I was told in the village to-day that you paid for everything in silver. If you are so attached to silver, how can you bring yourself to part with it? Why not pay in gold?’ ‘Because,’ Raphael replied, ‘I never handle gold save in my professional capacity as bank manager. I take my salary in silver. I cannot help it. The weight frequently proves a difficulty, but I cannot help it. Silver I must have. It is in my blood, the desire for silver. True, I pay away silver--simply because I have no other coins available.’ ‘I see,’ said Richard.