it."
"And if that is the truth," said Horne Fisher, "are you going to tell it?"
"What do you mean? Tell the truth?" demanded Gryce."I mean you are going to tell the truth as you have just told it," replied
Fisher. "You are going to placard this town with the wickedness done to old
Wilkins. You are going to fill the newspapers with the infamous story of Mrs.
Biddle. You are going to denounce Verner from a public platform, naming him
for what he did and naming the poacher he did it to. And you're going to find
out by what trade this man made the money with which he bought the estate;
and when you know the truth, as I said before, of course you are going to tell
it. Upon those terms I come under the old flag, as you call it, and haul down
my little pennon."
The agent was eying him with a curious expression, surly but not entirely
unsympathetic. "Well," he said, slowly, "you have to do these things in a
regular way, you know, or people don't understand. I've had a lot of
experience, and I'm afraid what you say wouldn't do. People understand
slanging squires in a general way, but those personalities aren't considered fair
play. Looks like hitting below the belt."
"Old Wilkins hasn't got a belt, I suppose," replied Horne Fisher. "Verner
can hit him anyhow, and nobody must say a word. It's evidently very
important to have a belt. But apparently you have to be rather high up in
society to have one. Possibly," he added, thoughtfully—"possibly the
explanation of the phrase 'a belted earl,' the meaning of which has always
escaped me."
"I mean those personalities won't do," returned Gryce, frowning at the
table.
"And Mother Biddle and Long Adam, the poacher, are not personalities,"
said Fisher, "and suppose we mustn't ask how Verner made all the money that
enabled him to become—a personality."
Gryce was still looking at him under lowering brows, but the singular light
in his eyes had brightened. At last he said, in another and much quieter voice:
"Look here, sir. I like you, if you don't mind my saying so. I think you are
really on the side of the people and I'm sure you're a brave man. A lot braver
than you know, perhaps. We daren't touch what you propose with a barge pole;
and so far from wanting you in the old party, we'd rather you ran your own
risk by yourself. But because I like you and respect your pluck, I'll do you a
good turn before we part. I don't want you to waste time barking up the wrong
tree. You talk about how the new squire got the money to buy, and the ruin of