Sir Stephen leant forward, his head on his hands, his eyes fixed on the heavy, stolid face of the speaker, the face which the keen, hawk-like eyes flashed under the lowered lids with a gleam of power and triumph.

—­“Your father had reason to hope that he would acquire those lands and rights; he did not know that I had been waiting for some years past to obtain them.  If knowledge is power and money, ignorance is impotence and ruin.  My knowledge against your father’s ignorance has given me the victory.  Last night I gained my point:  the news to that effect is no doubt contained in that document.  It was a question of price—­it always is.  I knew your father’s bid, and—­I went a few thousands higher and got the prize.  That’s the story in a nutshell.  Of course there are a number of complications and details, but I spare you them; in fact, I don’t suppose you understand them.  It is a mere matter of business”

“No, of revenge!” said Sir Stephen’s hollow voice.  “Stafford, years ago I did this man a wrong.  I—­I have repented; I would have made atonement, reparation; but he put the offer aside.  Here, in this house, he professed to have forgiven and forgotten—­professed friendship.  It was a piece of treachery and deceit; under that specious mask, behind that screen, he has worked my ruin!”

“Ruin!” said Stafford, in a low voice.  “Surely you exaggerate, father!  You mean that you will lose a lot of money—­Oh, I can understand that, of course.  But not ruin!”

“Yes, ruin!” said Sir Stephen, hoarsely.  “If you doubt it, look at him!”

Falconer was standing with a sardonic smile in his eyes.

Stafford started.

“Is this true, Mr. Falconer?”

Falconer was silent for a moment, then he said, slowly, grimly: 

“In a sense—­yes.  Your father’s fate lies in my hands.”

“In your hands!” echoed Stafford, with amazement.

Sir Stephen groaned and rose, supporting himself by the arm of the chair.

“It is true, Stafford.  He—­he has planned it with the skill of a general, a Napoleon!  I see it all now, it is all plain to me.  You held my shares and securities, of course, Falconer?”

Falconer nodded.

“Of course!” he said, drily.

“And you have run them down to meet this scheme of yours.”

“Yes, of course!” said Falconer, again.  “My dear Steve—­Sir Stephen—­pardon!—­your fate, as I have said, is in my hands.  It is simply a matter of tit-for-tat.  You had your turn some years ago out there”—­he waved his hand.  “It is my turn now.  You can’t complain.  Do you admit the justice of the thing?”

Sir Stephen sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands for a moment, then he looked up at Stafford.

“He’s right.  It was his turn.  He has taken it—­and with it every penny I possess.  It means ruin—­complete ruin!  Worse even than the loss of every penny; for—­for—­I—­God help me!—­can’t afford to go into court and have the past raked up—­And he knows it—­he knows it, Stafford!”