“It is possible,” he said at last, “that you are an honest man. On the other hand you must admit that the balance of probability from my point of view is on the other side. Let us travel backwards a little way--to my first meeting with you. I witnessed the granting of this concession to you by the King of Bekwando. According to its wording you were virtually Monty's heir, and Monty was lying drunk, in a climate where strong waters and death walk hand-in-hand. You leave him in the bush, proclaim his death, and take sole possession. I find him alive, do the best I can for him, and here the first act ends. Then what afterwards? I hear of you as an empire-maker and a millionaire. Nevertheless, Monty was alive and you knew he was alive, but when I reach Attra he has been spirited away! I want to know where! You say you don't know. It may be true, but it doesn't sound like it.” Trent's under-lip was twitching, a sure sign of the tempest within, but he kept himself under restraint and said never a word. Francis continued, “Now I do not wish to be your enemy, Scarlett Trent, or to do you an ill turn, but this is my word to you. Produce Monty within a week and open reasonable negotiations for treating him fairly, and I will keep silent. But if you can't produce him at the end of that time I must go to his relations and lay all these things before them.” Trent rose slowly to his feet. “Give me your address,” he said, “I will do what I can.” Francis tore a leaf from his pocket-book and wrote a few words upon it. “That will find me at any time,” he said. “One moment, Trent. When I saw you first you were with--a lady.” “Well!” “I have been away from England so long,” Francis continued slowly, “that my memory has suffered. Yet that lady's face was somehow familiar. May I ask her name?” “Miss Ernestine Wendermott,” Trent answered slowly. Francis threw away his cigarette and lit another. “Thank you,” he said. CHAPTER XXXV Da Souza's office was neither furnished nor located with the idea of impressing casual visitors. It was in a back-street off an alley, and although within a stone's throw of Lothbury its immediate surroundings were not exhilarating. A blank wall faced it, a green-grocer's shop shared with a wonderful, cellar-like public-house the honour of its more immediate environment. Trent, whose first visit it was, looked about him with surprise mingled with some disgust. He pushed open the swing door and found himself face to face with Da Souza's one clerk--a youth of unkempt appearance, shabbily but flashily dressed, with sallow complexion and eyes set close together. He was engaged at that particular moment in polishing a large diamond pin upon the sleeve of his coat, which operation he suspended to gaze with much astonishment at this unlooked-for visitor. Trent had come straight from Ascot, straight indeed from his interview with Francis, and was still wearing his racing-glasses.