Chapter 5

LAURA'S REQUEST.

That night after supper Robert McIntyre poured forth all that he had
seen to his father and to his sister. So full was he of the one subject
that it was a relief to him to share his knowledge with others. Rather
for his own sake, then, than for theirs he depicted vividly all the
marvels which he had seen; the profusion of wealth, the regal
treasure-house of gems, the gold, the marble, the extraordinary devices,
the absolute lavishness and complete disregard for money which was shown
in every detail. For an hour he pictured with glowing words all the
wonders which had been shown him, and ended with some pride by
describing the request which Mr. Raffles Haw had made, and the complete
confidence which he had placed in him.

His words had a very different effect upon his two listeners.
Old McIntyre leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile upon his lips,
his thin face crinkled into a thousand puckers, and his small eyes
shining with envy and greed. His lean yellow hand upon the table was
clenched until the knuckles gleamed white in the lamplight. Laura, on
the other hand, leaned forward, her lips parted, drinking in her
brother's words with a glow of colour upon either cheek. It seemed to
Robert, as he glanced from one to the other of them, that he had never
seen his father look so evil, or his sister so beautiful.

"Who is the fellow, then?" asked the old man after a considerable pause.
"I hope he got all this in an honest fashion. Five millions in jewels,
you say. Good gracious me! Ready to give it away, too, but afraid of
pauperising any one. You can tell him, Robert, that you know of one
very deserving case which has not the slightest objection to being
pauperised."

"But who can he possibly be, Robert?" cried Laura. "Haw cannot be his
real name. He must be some disguised prince, or perhaps a king in
exile. Oh, I should have loved to have seen those diamonds and the
emeralds! I always think that emeralds suit dark people best. You must
tell me again all about that museum, Robert."

"I don't think that he is anything more than he pretends to be," her
brother answered. "He has the plain, quiet manners of an ordinary
middle-class Englishman. There was no particular polish that I could
see. He knew a little about books and pictures, just enough to
appreciate them, but nothing more. No, I fancy that he is a man quite
in our own position of life, who has in some way inherited a vast sum.
Of course it is difficult for me to form an estimate, but I should judge
that what I saw to-day--house, pictures, jewels, books, and so on--could
never have been bought under twenty millions, and I am sure that that
figure is