"Well, people have all sorts of fancies now-a-days"--I said; "What with
Blavatskyism, Besantism and hypnotism, it is no wonder if some folks
still have a faint credence in the silly old superstition of a devil's
existence. But for a thoroughly sensible man...."
"Yes--er, yes;"--interrupted Mr Ellis--"Your relative, Mr Tempest, _was_
a thoroughly sensible man, and this--er--this idea was the only fancy
that ever appeared to have taken root in his eminently practical mind.
Being only an idea, it seemed hardly worth mentioning--but perhaps it is
well--Mr Bentham agreeing with me--that we _have_ mentioned it."
"It is a satisfaction and relief to ourselves,"--said Mr Bentham, "to
have had it mentioned."
I smiled, and thanking them, rose to go. They bowed to me once more,
simultaneously, looking almost like twin brothers, so identically had
their united practice of the law impressed itself upon their features.
"Good-day Mr Tempest,"--said Mr Bentham--"I need scarcely say that we
shall serve you as we served our late client, to the best of our
ability. And in matters where advice may be pleasant or profitable, we
may possibly be of use to you. May we ask whether you require any cash
advances immediately?"
"No, thank you,"--I answered, feeling grateful to my friend Rimânez for
having placed me in a perfectly independent position to confront these
solicitors--"I am amply provided."
They seemed, I fancied, a trifle surprised at this, but were too
discreet to offer any remark. They wrote down my address at the Grand
Hotel, and sent their clerk to show me to the door. I gave this man
half-a-sovereign to drink my health which he very cheerfully promised to
do,--then I walked round by the Law Courts, trying to realize that I was
not in a dizzy dream, but that I was actually and solidly, five times a
millionaire. As luck would have it, in turning a corner I jostled up
against a man coming the other way, the very publisher who had returned
me my rejected manuscript the day before.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed stopping short.
"Hullo!" I rejoined.
"Where are you off to?" he went on--"Going to try and place that
unlucky novel? My dear boy, believe me it will never do as it is...."
"It will do, it shall do;"--I said calmly--"I am going to publish it
myself."
He started. "Publish it yourself! Good heavens!--it will cost
you--ah!--sixty or seventy, perhaps a hundred pounds."
"I don't care if it costs me a thousand!"
A red flush came into his face, and his eyes opened in astonishment.
"I thought ... excuse me ..." he stammered awkwardly; "I thought money
was scarce with you----"
"It was," I answered drily--"It isn't now."
Then, his utterly bewildered look, together with the whole
topsy-turviness of things in my altered position, struck me so forcibly
that I burst out laughing, wildly, and with a prolonged noise and
violence that apparently alarmed him, for he began looking nervously
about him in all directions as if meditating flight. I caught him by the
arm.
"Look here man," I said, trying to conquer my almost hysterical
mirth--"I'm not mad--don't you think it,--I'm only a--millionaire!" And
I began laughing again; the situation seemed to me so sublimely
ridiculous. But the worthy publisher did not see it at all--and his
features expressed so much genuine alarm that I made a further effort to
control myself and succeeded. "I assure you on my word of honour I'm not
joking--it's a fact. Last night I wanted a dinner, and you, like a good
fellow, offered to give me one,--to-day I possess five millions of
money! Don't stare so! don't have a fit of apoplexy! And as I have told
you, I shall publish my book myself at my own expense, and it _shall_
succeed! Oh I'm in earnest, grim earnest, grim as death!--I've more than
enough in my pocketbook to pay for its publication _now_!"