“You mean putting the best foot forward--presenting myself in the enviable light of the successful uncle--the modern Nabob.” “And you levy money on your people?” “I borrow on my reversionary interests--in the Accumulations.” “I will pay your bill on the understanding that you take yourself off. How much is it?” Uncle Fred named the amount. It was a staggerer. “Good Heavens! Man, you must have bathed in champagne.” “There has been champagne,” Fred replied with dignity. “I had to support my position. City men lunched with me and dined with me. We discussed the Fourth Act in the Comedy of Barlow Brothers--the Realisation. As for the Bill, I borrow the amount.” Leonard sat down and wrote a cheque. Uncle Fred took it, read it, folded it, and sighed with a tear of regret that he had not named double the amount. “Thanks,” he said. “The act was ungraciously performed. But the main thing is to get the cheque. That I have always felt, even when I got it out of old Sixty per Cent. Well, I go back to a land which has been hitherto inhospitable. Farewell, my nephew. I shall bask: I shall batten, whatever that means: I shall fatten: I shall swell out with fatness in the sunshine--the Sydney sunshine is very fattening--of gratitude, and the generosity of a Sydney millionaire.” He buttoned his coat, and went away with loud and resounding footsteps, as he had come, the furniture cracking, the picture-frames rattling. So far, Leonard has not received the promised explanation of the Mystery of Barlow Brothers; nor has that check been returned. There remained one more credit to the Family. It was Christopher, the eminent and learned counsel. He, too, called half an hour after the departure of his brother. “I came,” he said, “first of all to warn you against giving or lending any more money to that fraud--my brother Fred.” “You are too late, then. I have paid his hotel bill. You have paid his passage out----” “No, I paid his hotel bill; you paid his passage out.” “Oh, well! so long as he goes----” “I paid his hotel bill because he threatened to go into the City and expose my real name.” “Go into the City? What could he do in the City? Whom does he know in the City? Your brother is just a mass of lies and impostures. What does it matter if he is really going?” “He must go. Nobody except you and me will lend or give him any money. He goes as he came--the wealthy Australian. He has promised my people to make them rich by his will: he hinted at an incurable disorder: and he bade farewell for ever--with my cheque in his pocket!” “Let him go. You had something else to say?” “Yes. It was about my own affairs. They know all, Leonard.” “They know all? Who told them?” “I’ve had a terrible time with the wife and daughter. But they know all. That vindictive little Beast called at the house, went upstairs, and told them everything. Then he went away grinning. There was a terrible scene.” “So I should suppose.”