"It's a pity you were not quite straight with me at the beginning, Gladwyne; it would have saved you trouble," he remarked at length. "I took a sporting risk at pretty long odds--I have to do so now and then and I pay up when I lose. But if I'd known the money was to go to Miss Gladwyne and you would only get the land, I'd never have kept you supplied; and in particular I wouldn't have made the last big loan shortly before you and your cousin sailed for Canada." "You knew it was a blind speculation--that I ran the same risk as George did, and that he might outlive me." "You're wrong on one point," Batley objected dryly. "I'm acquainted with your temperament--it's not one that would lead you into avoidable difficulties. Well, you came through and your cousin died, but you failed to pay me off when you came into possession." "I've explained that I couldn't foresee the trouble I have in meeting expenses. I've paid you an extortionate interest." "That's in arrears," retorted Batley. "You should have pinched and denied yourself to the utmost until you had got rid of me. You couldn't bring yourself to do so--well, it's rather a pity one can't have everything." Approaching the table, he quietly took up the lamp. It was heavy, standing on a massive silver pillar, but he raised it above his head so that the light streamed far about the stately room. Then he laughed as he set it down. "It's something to be the owner of such a place and enjoy all that it implies--which includes your acknowledged status and your neighbors' respect. There would be a risk of losing the latter if it came out that, driven by financial strain, you had been speculating on your cousin's death." Gladwyne made a little abrupt movement and Batley saw that his shot had told. "It would be enough to place you under a cloud," he went on. "People might think that you had at least not been very reluctant to leave him to starve. Well, I've had to wait for my money, with the interest by no means regularly paid, and unless you can square off the account, I must ask you to leave me a free hand to deal with Crestwick as I think fit. In return, if it's needful, I'll see you through on reasonable terms until you marry Miss Crestwick or somebody else with money." On the whole, Gladwyne was conscious of relief. He had been badly frightened for a moment or two. If Batley, who had good reasons for distrusting him, had accepted his account of his cousin's death, it was most unlikely that it had excited suspicion in the mind of anybody else. Crestwick, however, must be left to his fate. It was, though he failed to recognize this, an eventful decision that Gladwyne made. "As you will," he answered, rising. "It's late; I'm going for my candle." He strode out of the room, and Batley smiled as he followed him.