'But Mr Grockleton, why have you never spoken of him? You should go to see him at once.'

'I think not. He greatly disliked my father although to me, as a boy, he was always kind. A year ago I wrote to him. He wrote back, fairly warmly, but said quite plainly that he did not desire any visitors. His malady, I suspect, makes him unsightly. Should he die and remember me, as I say, our circumstances will alter and I mean to retire.'

He watched her carefully, rather pleased with himself. It was clear that she believed him; and it was important that she should. For the last part of his statement was entirely true.

It had been his interview with Puckle that had finally decided him. As he watched the fellow's obvious fear - and he had no doubt it was well founded - he could scarcely help thinking of what the forest smugglers would do to him, too, after his great attack upon them. Perhaps they would be cowed; maybe respectful; possibly even broken. But he was not so foolish as to rely upon it. No, he had considered, as the days and weeks passed, it was far more likely, one dark night, that he would be ambushed somewhere and receive a pistol shot in his head for causing them so much inconvenience. Was he prepared to wait for that? On balance, he had concluded, he wasn't. He was brave enough to take on the smugglers, but if he won and made a small fortune from the business, then he would do as Puckle meant to do. He'd take his winnings and leave, get out, retire. No one would blame him and, frankly, he no longer cared much if they did.

As he certainly couldn't tell his wife the truth, since she was quite incapable of keeping such a secret, it had occurred to him to invent his cousin Balthazar and the legacy as a way of preparing her for the possible change of circumstances. He watched her face, therefore, with interest; and after she had reflected a few moments, he saw her smile.

'But, my dear husband, should this happy event transpire and you acquire a fortune, there would be no cause to leave Lymington at all. We shall be able to live here, with only a little more money, I promise you, in the greatest style. Oh, indeed ...' It was clear that prospects of future balls, graced by Burrards, Martells, perhaps even royal visitors, were entering her mind one after another, like swans landing upon a river.

'Ah.' This was not at all what he wanted. 'But think of the places we could choose to live. 'Why,' he suggested cleverly, 'we could even go to live in Bath.'

'Bath? I have no wish to live in Bath.'

'But Mrs Grockleton.' He looked at her in astonishment. 'You speak constantly of Bath. Surely ...'