“Murray has just arrived, Falconer, with the good news!” he took out the gold chain to which the key of the despatch box was fastened, and inserted it in the lock.  “The good news, Staff!  I haven’t bothered and bored you with details; but you know, my dear boy, that I have had a big scheme on hand for some time past—­a very big scheme.  It has been rather a touch-and-go business, but I think I have managed to pull it off—­eh, Falconer?  The last day or two has been one of suspense—­great suspense—­but success has come.  You don’t care for money, Staff, I know.  Nor do I. Honestly, no!  Not for the mere money, but for what it can buy and bring.  But even you will have some respect for a million and a half, Staff.”

He laughed.

“A large sum, and this means more than money.  There ought to be something in the way of an honour—­”

Falconer nodded.

“If the scheme is successful, your father will be a peer of the realm, Mr. Stafford,” he said drily, with an emphasis on the “if.”

“If!” echoed Sir Stephen, laughing and nodding.  Stafford could see by the brilliance of his eyes, the flush on his face, that he was excited and was struggling with excitement.  “If!”

Falconer nodded at the despatch-case, and, with another bantering laugh, Sir Stephen opened it and took out a large envelope.  He held this for a moment poised between finger and thumb, then he tore it open and took out a sheet of paper, and turned his flashing eyes from the two men to the document.

He rose for a moment with the smile still on his face; then they saw it fade, saw the flush slowly disappear, and in its place a dull grey steal over the face.

Stafford, startled, went round to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“What is the matter, sir?” he asked.  “Bad news?”

Sir Stephen looked at him as if he did not see him, then turned his eyes upon Falconer, who stood regarding him with a fixed, sardonic gaze.

“Hast thou found me, oh, mine enemy?” came at last from Sir Stephen’s white lips.

Stafford looked from one to the other.

“What—­what on earth is the matter?  What do you mean?” he said.

Sir Stephen raised his hand and pointed to Ralph Falconer.

“This—­this man!” he gasped; then he shook his head impatiently, as if he were fighting against his weakness.  “This man Falconer has betrayed me!”

Stafford drew himself up, as he stood by his father’s side, and eyed Falconer sternly.

“Will you explain, Mr. Falconer?” he said.

“Certainly,” said Falconer, with a grim calmness.  “Your father uses unwarrantably strong language, Mr. Orme, for an action of mine which is quite a common one amongst business men.”

“No!” gasped Sir Stephen, as he sank back into the chair.  “Treachery is not common—­”

“Treachery is the wrong word,” said Falconer, as coldly as before.  “Better let me explain to Mr. Stafford.  I can do so in a few words, Mr. Orme.  The fact is, your father and I have been, quite unknown, to each other, engaged in the same scheme.  It is nothing more nor less than the acquisition of certain land and rights which carry with them the privilege of constructing a railway in the most promising part of South Africa—­”