‘Hillo! The hall’s dark. They’ve all gone to bed, I suppose. Now don’t let’s have any more chatter. Spain’s the land for you, my lad. You’ll start first thing tomorrow. You lie low, and leave me to work things for the pair of us if I can. If I see that the game’s going against us I shall follow. Good God, what’s that?’ ‘I am here, father,’ said Polson, rising. ‘I have been waiting to speak to you.’ Jervase started violently at his unexpected voice, and half recoiled into the room behind him. ‘You’re here?’ he said, advancing with clenched hands. ‘What are you doing here? Eavesdropping?’ ‘No, sir,’ said Polson more sternly than he had ever spoken in his life till then. ‘That isn’t my line of country, and you know it. I want to speak to you.’ ‘Go to your room,’ said his father, hissing from between clenched teeth. ‘Go to your room, sir, and be damned to you.’ ‘I have meant to speak to you,’ Polson answered, ‘since I had time to think this night’s work over, and after what I heard just now, I mean it more than ever.’ He entered the room and his father gave way before him. He had forgotten the evident traces of his recent tears, and stood with his eyelashes still glistening and his cheeks wet and scalded. But his brows were drawn level and his jaw was thrust out beneath the tightened lips in a way which brought out the family likeness with amazing force. ‘Well,’ said his father. ‘Say your say, and go.’ ‘I shall say my say,’ the younger man responded. ‘Spain is not the place. Castle Barfield is the place. The Beacon Hill is the place. This house is the place.’ ‘So you have been eavesdropping?’ ‘You know I haven’t,’ Polson answered in cold disdain. ‘But I’m not going to follow that red herring. I say Spain’s not the place--unless----’ He choked and stammered and could go no further. ‘Unless what?’ ‘Unless--oh, my God! how can I say it? Unless my father and his cousin are a brace of rascals.’ ‘That’s pretty language from an only son.’ ‘Yes. It’s pretty language. Give me a chance to take it back, and change it.’ ‘Sit down,’ said Jervase, pointing to a chair. His son obeyed him, and he took a seat at the opposite side of the table, leaning both his arms forward ponderously. ‘Now, you and me have got to have this out, I see.’ ‘Yes,’ the young man answered, repressing a sick shudder. ‘We must have it out, father.’ ‘Very well; I suppose you believe the yarn these chaps have pitched to Stubbs?’ ‘What am I to believe?’ ‘Suppose it’s true, what do you think is going to happen?’ ‘Shame and ruin to us all,’ said Polson. ‘As for shame--maybe yes--most likely no. As for ruin--that’s as I please.’ ‘Oh?’