“Almost anything,” Rupert repeated, halting at the table to drink some coffee.

The hand that held the cup was not over-steady.  Mordaunt’s eyes rested upon it thoughtfully.

“I should like to know,” he said, after a moment.

Rupert gulped his coffee and looked down at him.  “Murchison said ten thousand when my father died,” he said.  “He would probably begin by saying ten now, but he would end by taking five.”

“Murchison is your solicitor?”

“And trustee up to a year ago.”

“I see.”  Mordaunt reached for his own coffee.  “And you?  You think ten thousand would be a fair price?”

Rupert broke again into his uneasy laugh.  “I think it would be an infernal swindle,” he said.

“I will talk it over with Mr. Murchison,” Mordaunt said quietly.  “I only wanted to be sure that you were quite willing to sell before doing so.”

Rupert took a turn up the room.  He looked thoroughly ill-at-ease.  Coming back, he halted by the mantelpiece and began to drum a difficult tattoo upon the marble.

“I don’t want you to be let in by Murchison,” he said suddenly.  “You will find him damnably plausible.  If he thinks you really want the place he will squeeze you like a sponge.”

“Thanks for the warning!” There was a note of amusement in Mordaunt’s voice.  He finished his coffee and rose.  “You have done your best to handicap your man of business, but I think he will get his price in spite of it.  You see, I really do want the place.”

“Without seeing it!”

“Yes.”

Rupert whizzed round on his heels, and faced him.  “Sounds rather—­eccentric,” he suggested.

Mordaunt smiled in his quiet, detached way.  “I can afford to be eccentric,” he said.  “And now look here, Wyndham.  You said something just now about having to wait a year to fix things up.  I don’t see the necessity for that, situated as we are.  Since you are willing that I should buy Kellerton Old Park, and since we are agreed upon the price, I see no reason to delay payment.  I will write you a cheque for your share to-night.”

“What?” said Rupert.

He stood up very straight, staring at the man before him as if he were an entirely novel specimen of the human race.

“Is it a joke?” he asked at length.

Mordaunt flicked the ash from his cigarette without looking at him.  Perhaps he felt that he had studied him long enough.

“No,” he said.  “I don’t see any point in jokes of that sort.  Of course, I know it’s not business, but the arrangement is entirely between ourselves.  I don’t see why even Murchison should be let into it.  We can settle it later without taking him into our confidence.”

“It’s a loan, then?” said Rupert quickly.

“If you like to call it so.”

“May as well call it by its name,” the boy returned bluntly.  “You’re deuced generous, Mr. Mordaunt.”