"I received your letter, fellow," said the other haughtily, "and I confess I was curious to learn how a man of education had fallen to your condition." His eye glanced upon Robin’s left arm, which he wore in a sling, as though he marveled why it had been thought worth while to mend a collar-bone upon which the neck was set so insecurely. "Take this chair, my Lord. I have but one in my spacious apartment. I’ll sit here." He moved to the cot and his visitor sat down, not without some show of reluctance. "And now, be brief," said Lord Beachcombe, watching him narrowly, "and let me know the service _you_ wish to render _me_"—with a sneer—"and the price you expect for it. I do not remember ever having been waylaid by you, so you can not have stolen jewels to restore." "Yet your lordship has some idea of what I have to offer—not to restore, for you never possessed it—and if I die on Monday, will never know the full worth of it until too late. Your lordship has a lawsuit pending involving your title and estate—" "Every one knows that," said Beachcombe irritably. "Some mysterious person has claimed to be my elder brother. The thing is manifestly impossible, but he appears to have interested a lawyer of sorts." "The thing is not impossible, Lord Beachcombe. It is true. It is also true that this claimant can deprive you not only of your title and estates, but of your very name." "You are mad! If such a thing were possible, what is it to you, and how can you know anything about it?" "Because all the papers are in my possession. Oh! not here—in perfectly safe keeping; where they will remain until I die, or claim them back." "How came they in your possession?" demanded Beachcombe. "In robbing a coach, I suppose you took them for something valuable." "They came into my possession by the action of Providence, to afford your lordship the chance of giving me my life and keeping your own honorable name." "Your life, my good fellow! You overrate my power and your own value. If your papers are worth anything, I’ll give you all the money you ask for your own spending, and the provision of those you leave behind—" "We’ll come to that presently," said Robin. "First, I’ll tell you what I have to offer. Some thirty years ago—while His Majesty King Charles was on the throne—a certain lieutenant of the Guards, younger son of a great earl’s younger brother, fell in love with a poor schoolmaster’s pretty daughter. Passing himself off as a stage-player, under the name of Gregory Vincent, he won the young woman’s affection, though not, apparently, her complete confidence; for she went to the pains of investigating the gentleman’s private life, and discovered his real name. Then she consented to a secret marriage, at which she substituted a real priest and legal papers for the sham ones with which her honorable lover had intended to cozen her."