She was impressed.  She knew not what to say.

“But, Priam——­”

“He’s paid me five hundred to-day for that picture I’ve just finished.”

“Five hund——­”

Priam snatched the notes from his pocket, and with a gesture pardonably dramatic he bade her count them.

“Count them,” he repeated, when she hesitated.

“Is it right?” he asked when she had finished.

“Oh, it’s right enough,” she agreed.  “But, Priam, I don’t like having all this money in the house.  You ought to have called and put it in the bank.”

“Dash the bank!” he exclaimed.  “Just keep on listening to me, and try to persuade yourself I’m not mad.  I admit I’m a bit shy, and it was all on account of that that I let that d—­d valet of mine be buried as me.”

“You needn’t tell me you’re shy,” she smiled.  “All Putney knows you’re shy.”

“I’m not so sure about that!” He tossed his head.

Then he began at the beginning and recounted to her in detail the historic night and morning at Selwood Terrace, with a psychological description of his feelings.  He convinced her, in less than ten minutes, with the powerful aid of five hundred pounds in banknotes, that he in truth was Priam Farll.

And he waited for her to express an exceeding astonishment and satisfaction.

“Well, of course if you are, you are,” she observed simply, regarding him with benevolent, possessive glances across the table.  The fact was that she did not deal in names, she dealt in realities.  He was her reality, and so long as he did not change visibly or actually—­so long as he remained he—­she did not much mind who he was.  She added, “But I really don’t know what you were dreaming of, Henry, to do such a thing!”

“Neither do I,” he muttered.

Then he disclosed to her the whole chicanery of Mr. Oxford.

“It’s a good thing you’ve ordered those new clothes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because of the trial.”

“The trial between Oxford and Witt.  What’s that got to do with me?”

“They’ll make you give evidence.”

“But I shan’t give evidence.  I’ve told Oxford I’ll have nothing to do with it at all.”

“Suppose they make you?  They can, you know, with a sub—­sub something, I forget its name.  Then you’ll have to go in the witness-box.”

“Me in the witness-box!” he murmured, undone.

“Yes,” she said.  “I expect it’ll be very provoking indeed.  But you’d want a new suit for it.  So I’m glad you ordered one.  When are you going to try on?”

* * * * *

CHAPTER XI

An Escape