portmanteau with my father's name upon the fly-leaf,
and an inscription in his own writing setting forth that it was given by
him to me."

"A Catullus?"

"Exactly! a Catullus."

"Then I'll have to trouble you to return it to me at your earliest
convenience. The book is my property: I paid eighteenpence for it on the
3rd of July, 1833, in the shop of John Burns, Fleet Street, London. My
brother took it from me a week later, and I have not been able to afford
myself another copy since."

"You admit then that the book is evidence of my father's identity?"

"I admit nothing. What do you want with me? What do you come here for?
You must see for yourself that I am too poor to be of any service to
you, and I have long since lost any public interest I may once have
possessed."

"I want neither one nor the other. I am home from Australia on a trip,
and I have a sufficient competence to render me independent of any one."

"Ah! That puts a different complexion on the matter. You say you hail
from Australia? And what may you have been doing there?"

"Gold-mining--pearling--trading!"

He came a step closer, and as he did so I noticed that his face had
assumed a look of indescribable cunning, that was evidently intended to
be of an ingratiating nature. He spoke in little jerks, pressing his
fingers together between each sentence.

"Gold-mining! Ah! And pearling! Well, well! And you have been fortunate
in your ventures?"

"Very!" I replied, having by this time determined on my line of action.
"I daresay my cheque for ten thousand pounds would not be dishonoured."

"Ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand pounds! Dear me, dear me!"

He shuffled up and down the dingy room, all the time looking at me out
of the corners of his eyes, as if to make sure that I was telling him
the truth.

"Come, come, uncle," I said, resolving to bring him to his bearings
without further waste of time. "This is not a very genial welcome!"

"Well, well, you mustn't expect too much, my boy! You see for yourself
the position I'm in. The old place is shut up, going to rack and ruin.
Poverty is staring me in the face; I am cheated by everybody. Robbed
right and left, not knowing which way to turn. But I'll not be put upon.
They may call me what they please, but they can't get blood out of a
stone. Can they! Answer me that, now!"

This speech showed me everything as plain as a pikestaff. I mean, of
course, the reason of the deserted and neglected ho