"I wish," he insisted, "that I could have got the letter from Uncle Rad to show you. It was so simple and so sensible. All he asks is just to see Uncle Rad personally, to feel that he has kindred in the world. He knows, he says, that, beyond good-will, he has no claim now. As a matter of fact, he has something more substantial than that, for Uncle Arthur had a little personal property, about fifteen thousand pounds, which he left to us four children--Jim and Frank and Edie and me, and which I for one wouldn't touch if I knew for certain that this Philip was his son." "But," she argued, "you say that the man does not speak of money." She hated the talk about money: for she had all that contempt for it which women have who have never felt the want of it. It would have been so simple if the intruder had only wanted money. She would not have cared a little bit if Luke had none, or was not going to have any. It was his right which she would not hear of being questioned; his right in Lord Radclyffe's affections, in his household, and also his rights in the future when Lord Radclyffe would be gone. "You are sure," she insisted, "that he does not want money?" "I don't think," he replied, "that he does, just now. He seems to have a little; he must have had a little, since he came over from St. Vincent and is staying at a moderately good hotel in London. No. He wants to see Uncle Rad, because he thinks that, if Uncle Rad saw him, blood would cry out in response. It appears that now he has lodged all his papers of identification with a London lawyer--a very good firm, mind you--and he wants Uncle Rad's solicitor to see all the papers and to examine them. That seems fair to me, doesn't it to you?" "Very fair indeed," she mused. "What I mean," he added with great conviction, "is that if those papers weren't all right, he wouldn't be so anxious for Uncle Rad's solicitors to have a look at them, would he?" "No." And after awhile she reiterated more emphatically. "Certainly not." "I must say," he concluded, "that the whole thing simply beats me." "But what does Lord Radclyffe say now?" "Nothing." "How do you mean nothing?" "Just what I say. He won't talk about the thing. He won't discuss it. He won't answer any question which I put to him. 'My dear boy, the man is a palpable, impudent impostor, a blackmailer' and that's all I can get out of him." "He won't see the man?" "Won't hear of it." "And won't he let his solicitor--Mr. Dobson, isn't it?--meet the other lawyer?" "He says he wouldn't dream of wasting old Dobson's time." "Then what's going to happen?" "I don't see," he said, "what is going to happen." "Won't you have a talk about it all with Mr. Dobson, and see what he says?" "I can't very well do that. Strictly speaking it's none of my business--as yet. I couldn't consult Uncle Rad's lawyers, without Uncle Rad's consent." "Another one then."