Daniel Lane left the Residency with curiously mixed feelings; and as he made his way through the sun-scorched streets, he found some difficulty in bringing his thoughts to bear upon the afternoon’s business. He felt that he had talked too much: it was almost as though he had faithlessly given away secrets that were sacred. Lord Blair and young Helsingham were hardly possessed of ears in which to repeat the confidences of the desert; and as for Lady Muriel, he was not in a position to say whether she had received his words with real understanding or not.

He had enjoyed his luncheon, and he was obliged to confess to himself that dainty dishes and a handsome table were by no means to be despised. On the other hand, he had been conscious of an artificiality, a sort of pose in much that was said or done at the Residency. His long absences from his countrymen had made him rather critical, and seemed now to reveal what might otherwise have passed undetected.

On the previous evening Muriel Blair had appeared to him—in her diamonds and frills and high-heeled shoes—to constitute as artificial a picture as could well be imagined; and he was disconcerted by the fact that nevertheless she had looked delightful. And today he had overheard fragments of her conversation with Rupert Helsingham, and had been alternately charmed and distressed by the manner in which they exhibited to one another their familiarity with all that was thought to represent modern culture and refinement of taste. It had seemed to be such empty wit; and yet the effect was often, as though by accident, quite close to the truth.

“Epstein is plain-spoken by implication”; ... “dear Augustus John! He’s a striking instance of the power of matter over mind”; ... “I always enjoy the Russian dancers: they are so stupid”; ... “the trouble with English Art is that it is so Scotch”; ... and so forth.

It was the wit of a certain section of London society, and it troubled him because it was restless and superficial; and he did not want to find an attractive girl, such as Muriel Blair, to be a kind of dragon-fly of a summer’s day. He would like to take her right out of her environment; and yet—oh, he could not be bothered with her!

With an effort he collected his thoughts, and, standing still at the street corner, studied his notebook and his watch. The first thing to be done was to go to find his cousin, to whom he had already sent a note saying that he would call upon him in the early afternoon, a time of day when at this season of the year most reasonable people remained within doors. He had long dreaded the visit to this unknown relative; and now after the tussle of the previous night, he felt keenly the awkwardness of the situation. However, the painful family duty could not be shirked, and the sooner it was over the better.

He turned off to his left, and walked quickly over to the barracks, which were not far distant; and at the gates he enquired his way to the officers’ quarters.

“Who d’you want to see, mate?” said a young corporal who sat in the shadow of the archway, picking his teeth.

Daniel told him.

“Oh, ’im!” chuckled the soldier. “Are you the man from Kodak’s? I ’eard him a-cursin’ and a-swearin’ this morning when ’e smashed ’is camera. Just ’ere, it was. ’E’ll give you ’Ell!—’e says the strap broke. It’s always somebody else’s fault with ’is Lordship.”

Daniel smiled. “A bit impatient like, is he?” he asked. He saw no point in explaining his identity.

“Impatient!” laughed the corporal. “Twice already ’e’s sent for the whole shop. You’ll catch it, mate, I warn yer!”

Daniel followed the direction indicated to him, and crossing the flaming compound, soon reached the entrance of his cousin’s rooms. Here a soldier-servant took in his name, and, quickly returning, ushered him through the inner doorway.

Lord Barthampton had risen from his chair, and was standing in what appeared to be interested expectation of the meeting with his unknown relation. His tunic was unfastened, and his collarless shirt was open at the neck, revealing a pink, hairy chest. His heavy red face was damp with perspiration, and it was evident that he was feeling the effects of a large luncheon. He had a big lighted cigar in his hand, and on a table beside him there were glasses, a decanter, and a syphon. The Sporting Times and Referee lay on the floor at his feet.

As Daniel appeared in the doorway his manner suddenly changed, and his bloodshot blue eyes opened wide under frowning eyebrows. He slowly replaced the cigar in his mouth and thrust his hands into his pockets.

“What d’you want?” he muttered.

“Well, Cousin Charles ...” said Daniel. He held out his hand, but Lord Barthampton made no responding movement.

“So you are Daniel, are you!” he ejaculated. “I might have guessed it. I’d heard that you were a sort of prize-fighting vagabond. What d’you want to see me for?”

“First of all,” the visitor replied, “to say I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t know till afterwards who you were.”

His cousin grunted like a pig. “You took an unfair advantage of me,” he said. “You could see I was a bit tight. In England we don’t think it’s sporting to knock a man down when he’s full of whiskey; but you Americans don’t seem to know....”

Daniel smiled. “I’m English too, you know.”

“Yes, in a way I suppose you are,” he grumbled, dropping into an arm-chair. “We’re both Lanes; but your mother was a Yankee, and you’ve spent half your life over there. You had no right to hit me.”

“I didn’t hit you,” said Daniel, with a broad smile. “I only shook you; and I’ll do it again if you don’t offer me a chair.”

Charles Barthampton stared at him, and, taking the cigar out of his mouth, blew a cloud of smoke from between his lips. “There’s a chair behind you,” he replied, rudely. “You can sit in it if it doesn’t make you stay too long.”

Daniel fetched the chair, and, placing it immediately in front of his cousin, sat himself down. “This is a bad start, cousin,” he said. “I’ve told you I’m sorry; but you know quite well it was your own fault.”

“I tell you I was tight,” he answered petulantly. “And besides, what right had you to be with Lizette? She belongs to the regiment.”

“She was good enough to have supper with me,” Daniel answered, and there was an unmistakable menace in his voice. “Please leave her out of the question.”

Lord Barthampton laughed. “I suppose you feel a bit struck on her this morning.”

Daniel suddenly rose to his feet; and his cousin, startled by the look in his face, sprang from his chair, and placed his hand on the bell on the wall behind him.

“Sit down, Cousin Daniel,” he sneered, “or I’ll ring the bell and have you thrown out by the guard.”

Daniel shrugged his shoulders, and resumed his seat. “There’s nothing to be timid about,” he replied, “if you’re careful what you say. I tell you again I apologize for my part in last night’s affair: I’m always ashamed of myself when I’m rough with anybody. I’ve come here to talk about family business, so you’d better sit down too.”

He pulled out his pipe, and began to fill it, while Charles Barthampton, with an awkward air of unconcern, sat heavily down once more.

“Family business, is it?” he growled. “I suppose you’re going to claim some money or something. Well, your name was mentioned in my father’s will, if you want to know, but he didn’t leave you anything.”

“He sent me a copy of the will last year, just before he died,” Daniel answered, unmoved.

His cousin glanced quickly at him. “Did he really?” he remarked. “That was odd, as he left you nothing; but he was a bit strange always. I don’t see what it had got to do with you, though. Your father, his brother, died years ago, didn’t he? And your mother hardly knew him.”

Daniel lit his pipe. “You forget,” he said, “that your father and I had a couple of months shooting together on the Peace River, three or four years ago, while you were in India. We became good friends, and I saw him in England afterwards.”

Lord Barthampton nodded, and was silent. He puffed viciously at his cigar; then, as though deciding that there might be some call for diplomacy, he pointed to the table. “Have a drink?” he said.

“No, thanks,” his visitor answered.

“Well, what the Hell do you want?” He was becoming exasperated.

Daniel looked gravely at him. “I want you to turn over a new leaf,” he said. “Now that you’ve inherited the property, and now that you’re head of the family, you’ve got a lot of responsibilities.”

“That’s my own business, not yours,” muttered his cousin, again grunting loudly.

“No, it’s my affair, too,” Daniel answered. “You’re not married; you have no son. As things stand at present I’m the next of kin. I’m your heir.”

The other uttered a short laugh. “Oh, I see,” he scoffed. “You’re banking on my drinking myself to death, or something, before I can become a proud father, eh? You wanted to have a look at me: and I suppose you’re disappointed to find I’m in the pink. You’d rather fancy yourself as Daniel Lane, Earl of Barthampton.” He made a gesture of contempt. “A pretty sight you’d make in the House of Lords! I wonder they even let you into the barracks!”

Daniel laughed with genuine amusement. “They thought I’d come to mend your camera.”

Lord Barthampton suddenly leapt to his feet. “God!” he exclaimed. “Where the Hell is that man?” He rang the bell furiously. “Why the blasted Hell don’t they come when I send for them?”

“Are you in a hurry to have it mended?” asked Daniel mildly.

“Of course I am!” snapped his cousin.

“Then why didn’t you take it round to the shop, yourself, instead of going into tantrums like a baby?”

His Lordship stood stock still, and stared at Daniel, like an infuriated bull. “I wish to God I knew why you were sitting here in my room!” he roared. “Why don’t you go?”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he snorted.

The knock was repeated.

“Come in, confound you!” he shouted, and thereat a soldier entered. “Are you deaf? Send somebody over to the camera place at once, and tell them that if they don’t attend to my orders I’ll break every damned thing in the shop. D’you hear?”

“In other words,” said Daniel, turning to the soldier, “say Lord Barthampton presents his compliments, and would be very grateful if they would hustle a bit.”

His cousin turned on him as the soldier, prompted by natural tact, speedily left the room. “Will you kindly mind your own business!” he snapped.

“How Lord Barthampton behaves is my business,” Daniel answered sternly. “Now, sit down there,” he added peremptorily, “and listen to me.”

The infuriated man stood where he was, breathing hard and biting at his cigar.

“Sit down, I said!” Daniel repeated; and now there was a ring of command in his voice at which the other started. He evidently had not forgotten last night.

“Oh, very well,” he replied, and flung himself into his chair.

Daniel leant forward and drew a long, type-written letter from his pocket. “This,” he said, “is a copy of your father’s last letter to me.”

“If he promised you any money,” the other interjected, “you won’t get it.”

Daniel took no notice. “I won’t trouble you with the first pages of the letter,” he remarked. “They just tell an old man’s disappointment in his son, and his fears that you will not only ruin yourself, but also sully the name and squander the estate. ‘Now, Daniel,’ he writes, ‘I am going to put the matter entirely into your hands, and to rely on your honour to carry out my wishes. In spite of my son’s shortcomings I love him for his mother’s sake, and it is my earnest desire that he should be a worthy representative of our line. If, however, you find that he is hopelessly going to the bad, I herewith place the documentary evidence in your hands by means of which you can turn him out in favour of yourself.’”

“What’s he mean?” exclaimed his cousin, half rising from his chair. “It’s forgery—it’s a trick or something!” His voice was unsteady.

Daniel, pipe in mouth, continued quietly to read: “‘I regret to say that, as these papers will show, my son was born out of wedlock. You are aware, no doubt, that I met my wife in South Africa, when I had a farm there, some years before I even expected to come into the title; but, except you and I, no living person knows that Charles was born six months before our marriage. I now leave the secret entirely in your discretion, knowing that you will only reveal it if you feel that I should wish you to do so.’”

“It’s a lie!” shouted Lord Barthampton. “It’s blackmail!”

“No,” said Daniel. “There’s no getting over it. The documents are all in order. You’re only Lord Barthampton on sufferance.”

His cousin sank back in his chair. His cigar had gone out, and he flung it on the ground. Then he leant forward and rested his head in his hands, scratching his red ear with one finger. In this attitude he appeared fat, unpleasant, and altogether devoid of dignity.

At length he looked up, sullenly, with a sort of cunning in his face. “How much do you want for those papers?” he asked.

Daniel sucked at his pipe for a few moments. “I want rather a stiff price,” he declared at length.

“What?” said his cousin, in a dull voice.

Daniel fixed his eyes upon him. “Your reformation,” he said.

“Oh, go to Hell!” was the reply, and Daniel rather liked him for it. He felt uncomfortable in a mentorial rÔle.

“Look here,” he said, “let’s understand what your father meant.”

Charles Barthampton got up and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda. “If that letter’s genuine,” he muttered, “there’s no understanding him.”

“Oh, yes, it’s simple enough,” replied Daniel. “You are his son, whether you’re legitimate or not; and he didn’t want to have your name, or his, or especially your mother’s, dragged through the mud by letting out his secret. So he wished you to inherit. But at the same time, he had a very Spartan sense of duty; and, as he was good enough to trust me, he thought I would act as a bit of a brake on you, if you knew that I could have you fired out if you didn’t behave yourself.”

“A dirty trick!” the other grunted, pacing up and down the room, his fists clenched, and much of the colour gone from his face. He swung round on his heel, and stared at Daniel with fierce, bloodshot eyes. “Oh, it’ll be easy enough for you to find a pretext for outing me. I can see already I’m done for. You’ve only got to say the word, but, by God! if you do turn me out”—he shook his fist in his cousin’s face—“I’ll send a bullet through you.”

Daniel put his hand to his hip-pocket, from which the butt of his revolver protruded. “I’m not a bad shot myself,” he replied.

“Oh, really!” Barthampton ejaculated, with an explosive splutter, and, darting to the table, he pulled open a drawer and dived his hand into it.

Instantly Daniel whipped out his revolver and covered him. “Stand back from that table!” he called out, and there was something very terrible in his voice.

His cousin’s hand fell to his side, and he took a pace back. Still covering him, and not taking his eyes from him, Daniel leaned over the table and felt for the revolver which lay there. Having found it, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Now don’t behave like a damned fool,” he said. “Understand me: I am not going to turn you out. I haven’t the slightest wish to do so. I don’t want the beastly estates, and I much prefer to be plain Daniel Lane. By law I’m Lord Barthampton, not you; but by something that’s above law, I mean fair-play, you are your father’s son and the heir he wanted. And nothing short of your utter damn-foolery will ever make me turn you out. D’you understand? But, mind you,” and his voice resumed its gravity, “you’ve got to turn over a new leaf. You’ve got to give up your drink and your pig ways, and your gambling, and your tantrums, and your women. You’ve got to be a considerate landlord to your tenants, and a good citizen, and a credit to your country, and your regiment, and your family. And you’ve got to live within your income, and give generously to the poor. D’you hear me?—give generously to the poor. We shan’t see much of each other, but from time to time I’ll look you up, and I shall be surprised if I don’t find a great improvement in you.”

Lord Barthampton stood in front of him, staring at him as at a ghost. He was visibly trembling, and his face had lost its colour. Very nearly he had been a murderer. He appeared to be on the verge of collapse.

“D’you mean what you say?” he whispered. “How can I trust you?” His mouth was so dry that his tongue clicked as he spoke.

“Your father trusted me,” Daniel replied, and held out his hand.

Very slowly his cousin responded, and a cold, trembling, clammy hand was placed in his own.

“Very well, then, good-bye, Cousin Charles. I’m off to the desert now. I don’t know when we’ll meet again.”

He took his cousin’s revolver from his pocket and, putting it back in the place where he had found it, closed the drawer. “May I take one of your cigars?” he asked. His pipe had gone out.

“Y-yes, of course,” the wretched man replied, still standing like one in a dream.

Daniel took the cigar, lit it, and, turning round, walked out of the room.

In the blazing sunlight outside he paused and stared across the dazzling open space, which, towards the west, led down to the Nile. A scorching wind beat in his face, and blew the dust of his footsteps towards the building which he had left. “Phew!” he whispered. “Thus goes ten thousand pounds a year and a peerage!”

He gazed across the river to the shimmering line of the desert which could be seen in the distance between the palms, and held out his hands towards it.