“Well, John, it’s no use beating about the bush. The fact is, I’m down on my luck; there’s nothing doing up in town, and things don’t seem to get any better, and----” “And you want some money, I suppose; your next quarter’s allowance advanced you, in fact?” “Well, no; not exactly that, though I don’t say it wouldn’t be a convenience.” John looked at him incredulously. “What do you want, then?” He wasn’t exactly afraid of Marrable, who seemed too flabby a sort of person to inspire one with much fear of what he might do; at the same time there was no denying that the weak vessel before him contained some perilous stuff in the way of undesirable knowledge. The man’s audacity in coming down again so soon gave him food for reflection. “The fact is,” answered Marrable, softly, “that my wife and I were talking things over last night, and she said things were so bad that it would be better for us to part, and she said she was sure you wouldn’t mind giving an old friend like me a shelter for a time.” “The d----l she did!” exclaimed Mr. Bradfield, in amazement. “And hadn’t you the sense to tell her that the suggestion was like her cheek?” “Why, no, John,” returned Marrable, just as gently as ever. “I didn’t tell her that, for I thought myself it wasn’t a bad idea.” There was a pause, during which John Bradfield, considered the downcast, hang-dog face of the other, while his own grew perceptibly paler. “Why?” he presently asked. “Oh, I’m sure I don’t want to make myself unpleasant in any way, John, but it seemed so odd to find Gilbert Wryde’s son here, shut up as a lunatic----” John Bradfield shivered. And the look he cast at the other was not pleasant to see. “Do you mean to suggest that you had any reason for thinking that he was not a lunatic?” Marrable’s answer came quickly. He was evidently anxious to get it out before he got afraid to say it: “Well, I should like to see him, that’s all.” “You haven’t heard, then, about the fire down here? He overturned his lamp, set fire to the place, and was burnt alive.” “Dear me! Was there an inquest?” These direct questions, put timorously, had the effect of making John Bradfield so furious that he stammered as he spoke: “There was no inquest. The body could not be found!” “Perhaps,” suggested Marrable, “he wasn’t burnt at all. Perhaps he escaped, or perhaps----” Although he paused, significantly, John Bradfield did not urge him to go on. There was a silence before Alfred said, in the same infantile manner as before: “And what became of all his money, John?” “He never had any.”