"It will ruin England," said van Heerden fervently, and the old criminal's eyes narrowed.
"'Umph!" he said again, and there was a note in his voice which made van Heerden look at him quickly.
"This country hasn't done very much for you," he sneered.
"And I haven't done much for this country—yet," countered the other.
The doctor laughed.
"You're turning into a patriot in your old age," he said.
"Something like that," said Milsom easily. "There used to be a fellow at Portland—you have probably run across him—a clever crook named Homo, who used to be a parson before he got into trouble."
"I never met the gentleman, and talking of parsons," he said, looking at his watch, "our own padre is late. But I interrupted you."
"He was a man whose tongue I loathed, and he hated me poisonously," said Milsom, with a little grimace, "but he used to say that patriotism was the only form of religion which survived penal servitude. And I suppose that's the case. I hate the thought of putting this country in wrong."
"You'll get over your scruples," said the other easily. "You are putting yourself in right, anyway. Think of the beautiful time you're going to have, my friend."
"I think of nothing else," said Milsom, "but still" He shook his head.
Van Heerden had taken up the paper he had brought down and was reading it, and Milsom noted that he was perusing the produce columns.
"When do we make a start?"
"Next week," said the doctor. "I want to finish up the Paddington factory and get away."
"Where will you go?"
"I shall go to the Continent," replied van Heerden, folding up the paper and laying it on the table. "I can conduct operations from there with greater ease. Gregory goes to Canada. Mitchell and Samps have already
