"Luckily," observed Mr. Beaumont to himself, "I can supply all the missing links by bringing forward Patience to prove the birth of Reginald as Fanny Blake's child in London, explain the absence of registration and baptismal certificates, and give a much more definite birthplace than he was likely to give."
He thereupon applied himself to his work and, after practising the names he wished to fill in on pieces of waste-paper, he inserted them in the original document, the clause which gave him all the work reading as follows:
"_I, Randal Garsworth, am your true father, and Fanny Blake, of Garsworth, was your mother, and you were born in Chelsea, London_."
Having finished this with infinite pains, Mr. Beaumont eyed his work in a very complacent manner.
"When that ink is dry," he said, thoughtfully, "it will turn as black as the rest of the writing. I'll wait till to-morrow morning before I put it into the envelope, just to see how the names look by daylight."
He took the letter written by the squire to Reginald and also the cheque, and placed them carefully away in one compartment of his pocket-book, then he placed the envelope, the seal-ring and the original document, wide open, in a small despatch-box, so that the ink would dry properly. Having locked the box, he put the key in his pocket, lighted a cigarette, and considered his next move.
"I must get the letter locked up in the squire's desk," he said to himself. "But how? Very likely Nestley has given the keys to Una Challoner, then there will be no chance. If I can't get the keys to lock it up I'll slip it among some loose papers in the desk to-morrow--but it would look better locked up. I think I'll walk over to the Grange and find out if Nestley has the keys still."
On going down stairs, however, he discovered that there was no need for him to walk to the Grange, as he found Nestley seated in the parlour, apparently in very low spirits, drinking hot whisky and water. When he saw Beaumont his face flushed, and he looked away, for the unhappy man, having lost his self-respect, felt his moral degradation keenly. Beaumont, however, pretended not to notice his action, but advancing towards him shook hands warmly, and asked after his health in the friendliest manner possible. Nestley was cold and short in his replies at first, but under the quiet warmth of Beaumont's fascinating manner began to talk more amiably.