“You were Wellman’s lawyer,” interrupted Gilder. “And he was not capable of managing his affairs. I tell you that will look ugly, and the Law Society will be asking questions. You’ll have to raise money to settle this case out of court.” “What are the others?” asked Arthur Gwyn sulkily. “There’s one for twelve hundred pounds, furniture supplied to Willow House, and another from the vendor of Willow House for balance of purchase money unpaid.” Arthur Gwyn leaned back in his chair, took out a gold toothpick and chewed it. “What is the full amount?” “About six thousand pounds,” said Gilder, gathering up the writs. “Can’t you raise it?” His employer shook his head. “A bill?” “Who is going to back it?” asked the lawyer, looking up. Gilder scratched his chin. “What about Lord Chelford?” he asked. VII Arthur Gwyn laughed softly. “And what do you imagine Chelford would say if I went to him with such a proposal? You seem to forget, my dear fellow, that to Chelford I am the brother of a young lady who on her twenty-fifth birthday inherits the greater part of a million pounds. I’m not only the brother, but I am her trustee. Besides which, I am managing his mother’s estate. What would he think if I tried? Chelford’s a fool, but he’s not such a fool as that, and I would remind you that all his business affairs are in the hands of the Second Son.” “You mean Alford--why do you call him that?” “He’s always been known as the Second Son since he was a child,” said the other impatiently. “He is a shrewd devil, never forget that, Gilder. I don’t know whether or not he suspects that I’m a fake, and that Leslie’s fortune is a myth, but there have been times when he has asked some deucedly uncomfortable questions.” “Is the fortune a myth?” asked Gilder, and his companion looked at him slyly. “You ought to know, my friend,” he said. “We have been living on it for eight years! The croupiers of Monte Carlo have raked into their treasury quite a lot of it--various bookmakers I could mention have built handsome villas out of it. A myth? It wasn’t a myth ten years ago. It was two hundred thousand pounds short of a myth! But to-day----” He spread out his hands and eyed the writs with a whimsical smile. “What do you expect to get from Chelford?” asked Gilder. “He has no money.” Mr. Gwyn chuckled. “You may be sure that before I went to the expense and trouble of buying--or nearly buying--a house adjoining Chelford’s place, and before I took the trouble to bring Leslie and him into touch, I took the elementary precaution of sizing up his position. He is comparatively poor, because that brother of his will sell none of the estates. He has the family obsession--their motto is ‘Hold Fast.’ Harry Chelford is realizable at a quarter of a million--apart from the buried treasure.” They both laughed at this. “You’ve been lucky up to a point,” said Gilder seriously. “It was luck to inherit his legal business----”