"I don't quite see ourselves bluffing all and sundry that you are Lord
Quorn," Peckover said doubtfully, as they finished the bottle.
"My good sir," replied Gage, "I don't see how we can help taking them
in if we make up our minds to do it. Just think; what man is there
alive who could really, logically prove his own identity if he were put
to it. Not one of us. We are just accepted by the world as William
White and Henry Black, John Thompson or Thomas Johnson; and in most
cases correctly so. In one case in ten thousand the world makes a big
mistake, but it doesn't count for much."
"Suppose not," observed Peckover, wondering whether he would not have
plenty of enforced leisure for counting if the world should find out
its mistake about him.
"Very few people know us over here," argued Gage; "and the few who do
can be easily bluffed, if it comes to that. If we both swear to the
same thing, who can stand against us?"
"No, that's right enough," Peckover agreed.
"Now I've been thinking," continued Gage, "that it won't do for us to
part company till this little arrangement of ours can run along without
pushing. You must come over to these Towers with me and see how the
land lies. We shall want to spend some money, at least I shall, so you
had better be a rich friend I picked up on the voyage, and we can
pretend the ready comes out of your pocket."
"But only Lord Quorn is asked," Peckover objected.
"Oh," replied Gage, "a rich man is always sure of a welcome. He may be
expected to pay for it, but there it is, all ready for him, if he asks
for it cheque-book in hand."
"I see."
"Perhaps it may not be a very genuine article; a sort of rolled-gold
welcome for which you are expected to pay as though it were twenty-two
carat all through. But it will wear long enough for our purposes, and
the adulteration won't be all on their side."
Host Popkiss looked in. "Rain clearing off, my lord," he announced.
"I expect Colonel Hemyock will be here directly to welcome your
lordship."
"All right, landlord," replied Gage. "In the meantime my friend and I
are quite comfortable here."
Popkiss stared at him, in mind to resent what he considered an
irreverent liberty.
"Still, I shan't be sorry to find myself at the Towers," Gage observed
casually.
This was rather more than Popkiss could stand. He did not approve of
casual customers (even if they ordered champagne) playing unseemly
jokes with noble guests in his coffee-room. "Beg pardon, sir," he said
with puffing severity, "I was addressing myself to Lord Quorn."
"Then," returned Gage, "you were addressing yourself to me."
In consequence of the superincumbent fat which circumvallated them Mr.
Popkiss could not open his eyes very wide, but, as far as the muffling
flesh permitted, his spacious face was understood to express an
electrifying astonishment amounting almost to incredulity. "Lord
Quorn? You, sir?" he gasped.
"Look here, my venerable joker." Peckover beckoned the bewildered
Popkiss to him by a backward jerk of the head. "You've been tying
yourself up in the wrong bag all the afternoon. I've let you go on
because I never spoil a good joke, but now my friend and
fellow-traveller, Lord Quorn, has appeared, it is about time your folly
was pointed out to you."
"I'm sure I'm very sorry, my lord," the discomfited Popkiss apologized.
"But as this gentleman did not deny it when I addressed him as my lord,
and as we were expecting your lordship to honour my poor house, why,
the mistake was only natural."
"That's all right," replied Gage.
"You're forgiven," grinned Peckover.
Wheels sounded under the archway of the courtyard, and Popkiss was glad
to bustle out. "I had my doubts about him all the time," he told
himself in extenuation of his error. "If I'd seen them both together
at first I should ha' known at once that 'tother was the lord."
Meanwhile the two confederates were laughing at each other over the
success of the first step on the path that promised to be so pleasant
for both.
They composed their faces as the door was thrown open and Colonel
Hemyock and the Misses Ethel and Dagmar Hemyock, accompanied by John
Arbuthnot Sharnbrook, were ushered in with breathless ceremony by the
egregious Popkiss.
"Lord Quorn?" the Colonel inquired in a tone of pompous cordiality.
Popkiss unctuously indicated Gage, who came forward with plausible
aplomb.
Then the ladies were presented, and Sharnbrook noticed gleefully the
dead-set that lurked in their eyes. His escape, he told himself, was
now assured.
"May I present my friend, Mr. Percival Gage?" the supposititious Lord
Quorn said, as, taking the permission for granted, he brought up
Peckover, whom, however, the Hemyock trio regarded a trifle doubtfully.
"Made a fine position for himself out in our part of the world," Gage
continued half confidentially, "and has come over to the old country to
enjoy the fruits of his good fortune."
The ladies instantly thawed. The golden sun easily gets through
snobbery's thin coating of ice. They looked at his aggressive diamond,
excused his vulgar flashiness on the ground of Colonial ignorance, and
received his advances with as much gush as was left over from the
lavish expenditure on the _soi-disant_ Lord Quorn.
"A millionaire," Gage observed to the colonel, sinking his confidential
tone yet a little. The highly starched Colonel became almost limp
under such a shower of good fortune.
"I--ah--hope Mr. Gage will do us the honour of staying at Staplewick,"
he said, and there was no doubt that he meant it. "Lady Agatha will be
charmed. Any friend of Lord Quorn's will be more than welcome."
So after a few more flourishes, it was settled. Mr. Gage's luggage had
unfortunately gone astray, but his costume would be excused that
evening by Lady Agatha, and next day a complete outfit, the visitor
declared, would be a mere question of the resources of Great Bunbury.
Presently the neglected but chuckling John Arbuthnot Sharnbrook was
noticed, and casually, as a matter of grace, introduced. He lost no
time in getting on easy terms with his prospective deliverer.
"I'm the tenant of your shooting, Lord Quorn."
"Hope you get good sport?" Gage replied politely.
"Birds thick as cabbages," Sharnbrook assured him. "I hope you will
come out with me and see for yourself. Of course you and your friend
shoot?"
"I should just think we did," Peckover chipped in with an eagerness due
to the near realization of one of the dreams of his life. Hitherto his
shooting had taken place under cover at the rate of seven shoots for
six-pence, and the presentation of a cocoa-nut if by luck or
markmanship he rang the bell.
That so bucolic and provoking a person as Sharnbrook at present clothed
in the contempt woven of familiarity should be allowed to monopolize
the distinguished guests by his stupid sporting chatter was
intolerable. Accordingly he was promptly snubbed and thrust aside.
Then, amid much smirking and exhibition of the best side of everybody's
face, a move was made for the phaeton. Gage surreptitiously slipped a
bank note into Peckover's hand, with which, and with a grand flourish,
that unexpected plutocrat settled the somewhat exorbitant demands of
Mr. Popkiss, and bestowed a liberal guerdon, accompanied by a wink, on
Miss Mercy. Then with what excitement and the nearest approach to
cheers a country town on a wet evening can furnish the distinguished
party drove off to Staplewick Towers.