"It does look rather theatrical here." Mr. Payson looked at the piles of velvet on the floor, then turned again to the young man. "It seems that you have the audacity to want to marry my daughter. No doubt this little scene is a part of the game. It’s very pretty, very effective. But let me tell you that this sensational tomfoolery won’t be of any use. You are a charlatan, sir! You’ve always been one, and you always will be." "Mr. Payson," Granthope said, with no trace of anger, "I can’t deny that something of what you say is true, but your daughter knows that much already, and she has it from a better authority than yours. I can’t blame you for your feeling in this matter; it’s quite natural, for you don’t know me. But I hope in time to induce you to believe in me. I wish you would let me begin by doing what should have done when I first met your daughter—warn you that you are in the hands of a dangerous set of swindlers who are deceiving you systematically. I can tell you a good deal that it will be greatly to your advantage to know about them." The old man broke into ironic laughter. "That’s just what they told me you’d say," he sneered. "They warned me that you’d try to libel them and accuse them of all sorts of impossible tricks. Set a thief to catch a thief, eh? No, that won’t work, Mr. Granthope. I happen to know too much for that!" "Won’t you listen to what he has to say, father? It can do no harm. What do you know about those persons, after all? They are undoubtedly trying to deceive you," Clytie said earnestly. Granthope added: "I can tell you of tricks they habitually practise." "What’s that to me? Haven’t I got eyes? Haven’t I common sense? Can you tell me how they find out things about my own life that no one living knows but me?" "I can tell you how it was done in other cases—" "Aha, I thought so—you can tell me, for instance, how to crawl through a trap in the mopboard, can’t you? I’d rather hear how you impose on silly women, if you’re going in for your confessions. What do you expect me to believe? I am quite satisfied with my own ability to investigate. I haven’t lived for fifty years in the West to be imposed upon by flimflam. I’m not suffering from senile decay quite yet!" He took Clytie to the door; there he paused dramatically, to deliver his parting shot. "I notice you’ve hidden away that young woman you’re living with. You might as well send for her—my daughter is not likely to be back again in a hurry." As they left, Clytie gave him a look which denied her father’s words. Granthope waited till the hall door had slammed, then went into the office, where the red-haired boy was lolling out of the window. "Jim," he said, laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder, "I shall not need you any more. Here’s your pay for the week. You needn’t come back."