"Your manufacturing chemists have not got the plants," said Rupert dryly. "The finished product is scarce and valuable; I have the knowledge that can bring the raw material to the distilling retorts. Well, if I use this knowledge, I make my charge, and I have offered my nephew a generous share." "On some conditions, to which I can't agree," Wyndham rejoined. "Your secret is worth money, but you can use it in one of two ways. You mean to smuggle the stuff into England in small quantities at a monopoly price; I think the other line would pay you better. Ship all you can, develop the trade openly, and although the price will drop and you may have rivals, the sums paid will be large and you will be first on the ground." Rupert gave him an ironical smile. "You are rather obvious, Harry. You want me to come out of my seclusion and engage in conventional trade. I see drawbacks. In six months, English, American, and German buyers would overrun the country, touting for business. The country's mine and my people will not let white men get control. We are satisfied with the old rules and don't want tram-roads, clearings, and factories. In fact, we don't mean to be exploited for the advantage of Larrinaga's greedy politicians, who'd sell the foreigners trading privileges for bribes." He stopped and drained his glass, and there was silence for a minute or two. Wyndham understood his uncle and rather sympathized. Independence and liberty to follow one's bent were worth much; one would not change them carelessly for the commercialism that gave a man no choice but to work by rule or starve. Marston, however, was puzzled and presently remarked: "Clearings would let in some light, which the country needs." "The light your industrial civilization gives is dim. I and the others would sooner have the dark. You hate the shadowy world because you do not know it; I have lived in it long." "How have you lived?" Marston asked. "You are a white man and it's plain you have unusual gifts. Yet you're satisfied to skulk about the swamps in dirt and rags, cheating superstitious brutes by conjuring tricks! The thing's unthinkable." Rupert looked at him with the smile Marston hated. It was malevolent and mocked his philosophy. "Some of the tricks are clever; they have puzzled you. We will not argue whether all are tricks or not. Anyhow, the clever impostor is a common type. Men who claim magic power direct your company-floating and manipulate your politics; but perhaps it's among primitive people the fakir has most influence. In the bush, I'm high-priest, and something of a prophet." "You claim to be king," said Wyndham, very dryly. "Prophecy's not difficult when you rather trust to knowledge your disciples haven't got than inspiration. No doubt, you make lucky shots, but royalty's another job. An unacknowledged king must fight for his crown. I want you to think if you hadn't better give it up."