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representative, my first priority will be Hamilton
Trading. Can you assure me that Captain Strachan will do the same?”
    “He has agreed to all of this—Mr. Branson Hamilton?” Blakely gazed in astonishment at Mr. Schofield. “It
was my understanding there was no love lost between Arthur and his nephew. He’s
a clever man of business is Branson.” Blakely stroked his mustache
thoughtfully. “He would not make such an offer if there was not a great deal of
profit in it for his own interests.”
    “I daresay you are correct, Mr. Blakely,” grunted Schofield.
“If my client regards Hamilton Trading as a desirable investment, I can assure
you the shareholders stand to make a great deal of money out of his interest in
the company.”
    Nevertheless, Blakely appeared unwilling to be persuaded. “What
is the catch?”
    Edgar had anticipated this. Branson warned him that men of
business always demand to know the conditions attached to any extraordinary
offer. This business of running a business had proven to be quite educational. He
crossed one leg over the other.
    “The catch ,
gentleman,” he said smoothly, “is that Arthur Hamilton is removed from the
Board of Directors and barred from participating in Hamilton Trading
operations. That is the condition of our offer. Do you accept?”

 
    §

 
    Windemere , Somerset County

 
    WINDEMERE PARISH Church was a homely stone
building, ancient and stalwart against the autumn sky. Its bell tower frowned
upon Branson, casting a shadow, as if it knew the business he was about was filled
with deceit. Vicar Wimbley was in the vestry. The look
he gave Branson when he entered was one of astonishment. The master of Windemere Hall was not a regular church-goer.
    “Good afternoon, sir. I thought you were in London. What
brings you to our humble parish?”
    There was no time for pleasantries. Branson got to the
point. “Vicar Wimbley , I need the parish records for
a brief length of time. I’ll return it to you tomorrow.”
    “Well, I am usually delighted to be of service, but in this
instance, what you ask is impossible. The book cannot leave the premises, Master
Hamilton.”
    Branson bit back an expletive. “If one were to make a
substantial donation to the church, could it leave the premises then?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I am willing to pay for the privilege.” Branson reached for
his billfold. “It is a matter of life and death.”
    “Sir, I do not comprehend your meaning,” the vicar
protested. “Please sit down and explain. Perhaps I can help you with your
problem. Whose life is at stake and how can our poor parish records help?”
    Branson ground his teeth. His response was clipped and
bordered on rude. “Clara Hamilton has been wrongly committed to Gateshead Insane Asylum by her father. I need the records
to get her out. My aim is to prove that I am her husband and have the lawful
right to take her home.”

 
    §

 
    Gateshead Asylum, that same day.

 
    “TELL ME about the vision, Clara.”
    Clara Hamilton turned to Doctor Rutledge and blinked, momentarily
confused. She had become accustomed to white walls and the smell of
disinfectant; the doctor’s panelled office, furnished
with books and upholstered sofas had made her forget where she was for a brief
spell. Clara had been admiring the view from the doctor’s office when he
recalled her to the present.
    “For moment, I thought I was in my father’s study back home.
You have such lovely things.” Her fingers grazed a porcelain vase and she saw
the doctor flinch. “Do not be alarmed. I have no desire to break anything. Your
ornaments are quite safe.”
    “Please sit down, Clara. With regard to the vase you smashed
in your father’s study, I want to discuss the accusation you levelled against him at that time. According to the
analysis performed by Dr. Hargreaves, this delusion is a manifestation of a
vision you had in adolescence. I should like to discuss it in depth. You would
like too