"You have missed the six o'clock train," he remarked. "I suppose you know that there is nothing now till the nine-twenty. Will you come to the club with me, and have some dinner?" It was less an invitation than a command. I felt a momentary impulse of rebellion, but the innate masterfulness of the man triumphed easily. I found myself walking, a little against my will, down Pall Mall by his side. A man of some note, he was saluted every minute by passers-by, whom, however, he seemed seldom to notice. In his town clothes, his great height, his bronzed face, and black beard made him a sufficiently striking personality. I myself, though I was little short of six feet, seemed almost insignificant by his side. Until we reached the club he maintained an unbroken silence. He even ignored some passing comment of mine; but when once inside the building he seemed to remember that he was my host, and his manner became one of stiff kindness. He ordered an excellent dinner and chose the wine with care. Then he leaned a little forward across the table, and electrified me by his first remark. "Ducaine," he said, "what relatives have you with whom you are in any sort of communication?" "None at all!" I answered. "Sir Michael Trogoldy was your mother's brother," he remarked. "He is still alive." "I believe so," I admitted. "I have never approached him, nor has he ever taken any notice of me." "You did not write to him, for instance, when Heathcote absconded, and you had to leave college?" "Certainly not," I answered. "I did not choose to turn beggar." "How much," he asked, "do you know of your family history?" "I know," I told him, "that my father was cashiered from the army for misconduct, and committed suicide. I know, too, that my mother's people treated her shamefully, and that she died alone in Paris and almost in poverty. It was scarcely likely, therefore, that I was going to apply to them for help." Ray nodded. "I thought so," he remarked grimly. "I shall have to talk to you for a few minutes about your father." I said nothing. My surprise, indeed, had bereft me of words. He sipped his wine slowly, and continued. "Fate has dealt a little hardly with you," he said. "I am almost a stranger to you, and there are even reasons why you and I could never be friends. Yet it apparently falls to my lot to supplement the little you know of a very unpleasant portion of your family history. That rascal of a lawyer who absconded with your money should have told you on your twenty-first birthday." "A pleasant heritage!" I remarked bitterly; "yet I always wanted to know the whole truth." "Here goes, then," he said, filling my glass with wine. "Your father was second in command at Gibraltar. He sold a plan of the gallery forts to the French Government, and was dismissed from the army." I started as though I had been stung. Ray continued, his stern matter-of-fact tone unshaken.