“‘No stranger,’ I said, ’indeed, by marriage a kinsman of your own, Sir Richard.’

“‘No kinsman of mine!’ he said, ’nor of my lady’s neither.  When I married Susan Ellery I did not wed her brother, nor any beggar’s brat’—­those were his words, sir—­’any beggar’s brat he was fool enough to keep off the parish.  If you had the will I’d dispute it against all the attorneys in England.’

“He is a hard man, Captain.  He demands possession in a week.”

“And your draft has no value in law?”

“Not a whit, I am sorry to say.”

“Then devil take the law,” the captain snapped out.

“Hang me, I’ll go myself and see Cludde and tell him what I think of him.”

“Not for me, Captain,” said I, feeling my face burn.  “I’ll take nothing from Sir Richard Cludde, beggar’s brat as I am.”

“You won’t be a fool, Humphrey,” said the captain.  “Half a loaf is better than no bread, and if I don’t wring an allowance out of the rogue, I’m a Dutchman.”

The captain would have his way, in spite of my protestation.  But he returned from his visit to Cludde Court in a towering passion.  The knight refused point blank to acknowledge any claim upon him, and swore that if Mistress Pennyquick and I were not out of the house by the day he named, he would come with bailiffs and constables and fling us out neck and crop.

Captain Galsworthy was more concerned than I was at the failure of his well-meant intervention.  In my ignorance of the world, and how hardly it uses those who have nothing, I did not foresee, as my wise old friend did, the arduous course I was to follow, nor the many buffets in store for me, but thought, like many lads before and since, that with the equipment of health and strength I could ride a tilt against circumstance.  Youth is green and unknowing, as Mr. Dryden hath it, and sure ’tis a mercy.

Before the day was out, we had a piece of news that confirmed the captain’s suggestion as to the disappearance of the will.  Cyrus Vetch had vanished, together with the contents of his uncle’s cash box.  When Mr. Vetch went home to his dinner, he found the cash box broken open, and Cyrus gone.  I could not doubt now that ’twas my old enemy had wreaked on me the vengeance that had smouldered in his breast ever since Joe Punchard sent him down Wyle Cop in the barrel, and was fanned into a flame by my action on the night of the adventure in Raven Street.  Mistress Pennyquick was firm in her belief that the Cluddes were party to the crime, but that I could not credit then, and never will.