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Updated: June 22, 2025
Richard Frencham Altar, fresh from the wars, simply wanted to eat her and, seeing that he was a handsome young fellow with a pleasant aura of gold about him, Doreen arrayed herself in her most eatable frocks and devourable smiles and just let him.
"Half a second," said Barraclough. "I'll slip out through the bedroom. There's a second door into the hall. Righto, Doran." He disappeared, closing the door after him. "The gentleman, sir," Doran announced. Richard Frencham Altar came into the room. The privations of the preceding three days had paled him a trifle.
They both addressed him simultaneously and in very different tones to the ones he had grown accustomed to during the past three weeks. The word "cheque" figured largely in their proposals. Richard Frencham Altar cut them short with: "Cheque from you? No, thanks. I'll take the smallest coin in each of your countries to wear on my watch chain. It'll remind me of my dealings with two millionaires.
Richard Frencham Altar had a sense of humour but never before in his hitherto easy going life had he so earnestly needed it. A sense of humour in a queer abstract way provides a quality of companionship it gives a man the power to be a pal to himself to talk to himself aloud to laugh at adversity to spot the comic side in the most pathetic predicament.
"No good?" "'Fraid not. It was hardly to be expected. Whatever you do, don't write." "I won't." Cranbourne glanced at the page again. "This is your real name, I suppose." Richard started, hesitated a bit, then nodded. "There was a Frencham Altar mixed up in that Patagonian business." "My father. Went broke and shot himself, you know." "I remember. Left you on the rocks, so to speak."
Richard Frencham Altar stood alone, blinking rather stupidly at the havoc he had wrought. It was such a relief when Flora stole out of the shadow of the trees and came toward him. "What a shemozzle, isn't it?" he said dazedly. "I think we'd better get out of this, don't you?" He wheeled the motor cycle into the centre of the road and bade her jump up behind.
James Frencham Altar, father of Richard, did not believe in failure or exposure or public obloquy. His lode-star was success and when the forward speed of success threw out its selectors and went suddenly into reverse the liquidation of his affairs was conducted by the firm of Colt and was covered in a single report. Thus ended an ambitious career.
"I do know. I do know won't say." "You can't know. That's true, isn't it? Answer me answer!" And quite suddenly Richard Frencham Altar's world went all black and his knees gave way beneath him. He fell with his head in his hands crying and gasping like a broken hearted child. And Auriole came to him and put her arms round him and kissed his neck, his hair, and his poor thin hands.
"But Good Lord!" exclaimed Cranbourne. "That may mean anything." Nugent Cassis threw up his hands desperately. Every vestige of his quiet business habit had vanished and instead he was a nerve-racked exasperated man who paced up and down jerking out half sentences, reproaches and forecasts of failure. "It's that fellow Frencham Altar given us away.
The man who was tortured while you were free to " She did not finish the sentence for even as she spoke Richard Frencham Altar stepped shakily from the car and came toward them. The extraordinary resemblance between the two men wrung a cry of amazement from Flora. "Barraclough?" said Richard rocking on his heels. "Pretty extraordinary meeting like this on the finishing straight. How goes?"
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