"Well sir, that Mandarin gentleman sent your father's papers and luggage back here when your mother was alive. A Chinaman brought the things. He hinted that all was not right, and afterwards the mistress died. She believed your father was murdered." Rupert looked pensive. He had heard something of this, but the story had been so vague, and was so vague as John told it, that he did not believe in it much. "Does Dr. Forge know the truth?" he asked. "He ought to, sir. Dr. Forge came from China with a report of this gold mine up in Kan-su, and your father was all on fire to go there and make money. The mistress implored him not to go but he would. He went with Dr. Forge, and never returned. The doctor, I know, says that the master died of dysentery, when the doctor himself was at Pekin. But I never liked that Forge," cried the old servant vehemently, "and I believe there's something black about the business." "But why should Forge be an enemy of my father's?" "Ah sir," Petley shook his old head, "I can't rightly say. Those two were at college together and fast friends; but I never liked Forge. No, sir, not if I was killed for it would I ever like that gentleman, though it's not for a person in my position to speak so. I asked the doctor again and again to let me know how bad things were, when you were at school, Master Rupert, but he told me to mind my own business. As if it wasn't my business to see after the family I'd been bred up in, since fifteen years of age." "I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose John that if there was a murder, he--" "No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But that Mandarin--" "Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him." "So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death fifteen years ago, he's been back several times." "Well I'll speak to him, John." "And about the money, sir?" Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll have to give up Royabay to the creditors." "Never--never--that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years." "I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep the Abbey and we could live quietly." "We sir?" asked the old man raising his head.