If ever he got there, what would be the price of Bekwando shares on the morrow? On the bridge Da Souza saw him accost a policeman, and brushing close by, heard him ask the same question. The man shook his head, but pointed eastwards. “I can't say exactly, sir, but somewhere in the City, for certain,” he answered. “I should make for the Bank of England, a penny 'bus along that way will take you--and ask again there.” The old man nodded his thanks and stepped along Da Souza felt that his time had come. He accosted him with an urbane smile. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I think I heard you ask for the offices of the Bekwando Land Company.” The old man looked up eagerly. “If you can direct me there, sir,” he said, “I shall be greatly obliged.” “I can do so,” Da Souza said, falling into step, “and will with pleasure. I am going that way myself. I hope,” he continued in a tone of kindly concern, “that you are not a shareholder in the Company.” The old man dropped his bag with a clatter upon the pavement, and his lips moved for a moment without any speech coming from them. Da Souza picked up the bag and devoutly hoped that none of his City friends were in the way. “I don't exactly know about being a shareholder,” the old man said nervously, “but I've certainly something to do with it. I am, or should have been, joint vendor. The Company is wealthy, is it not?” Da Souza changed the bag into his other hand and thrust his arm through his companion's. “You haven't seen the papers lately, have you?” “No! I've just landed--to-day--from Africa!” “Then I'm sorry to say there's some bad news for you,” Da Souza said. “The Bekwando Land and Gold Company has gone into liquidation--smashed up altogether. They say that all the directors and the vendor will be arrested. It seems to have been a gigantic swindle.” Monty had become a dead weight upon his arm. They were in the Strand now, and he pushed open the swing-door of a public-house, and made his way into the private bar. When Monty opened his eyes he was on a cushioned seat, and before him was a tumbler of brandy half empty. He stared round him wildly. His lips were moist and the old craving was hot upon him. What did it mean? After all he had broken his vow, then! Had he not sworn to touch nothing until he had found his little girl and his fortune? yet the fire of spirits was in his veins and the craving was tearing him to pieces. Then he remembered! There was no fortune, no little girl! His dreams were all shattered, the last effort of his life had been in vain. He caught hold of the tumbler with fingers that shook as though an ague were upon him, lifted it to his lips and drank. Then there came the old blankness, and he saw nothing but what seemed to him the face of a satyr--dark and evil--mocking him through the shadows which had surely fallen now for ever. Da Souza lifted him up and conveyed him carefully to a four-wheel cab. * * * * *