He broke off suddenly, and, turning away with a heavy groan, flung himself into a chair, and let his face fall forward on the table. For all that he was face to face with at that moment he could have found no words. The remorse, the sense of failure and helplessness, the despair which seemed to be tearing his heart to pieces, were one intolerable anguish. Ramsay followed him with his eyes, and then crossed the room quietly, and stood beside his bowed figure, which was shaken now and again from head to foot. “Is it so bad as this, boy?” he said quietly. Then, as there came no answer, he went on meditatively: “Ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand isn’t so much to lose. Counters in the game, that’s all.” He paused, and after a moment Julian lifted his face, haggard and drawn. “It’s the stake you must look to,” he said. “My stake was heavy, Ramsay. Oh, you’re right enough. Ten thousand pounds isn’t much. I borrowed a thousand yesterday--raised it on a reversion--to get hold of some shares Loring wanted to sell. That wasn’t much either, of course.” He had spoken in a dreary, monotonous voice, which was inexpressibly hopeless. And Ramsay’s eyes were fixed keenly on him as their owner said drily: “You bought a thousand pounds’ worth of Loring’s shares yesterday? Did you know that he was selling out all his interest in the Welcome?” Julian turned with a quick, startled movement, and then paused. “All his interest?” he repeated. “He wanted a thousand to pay for a Scotch moor, that was all.” “He sold every share he had yesterday,” returned Ramsay. “Curious coincidence.” “You don’t mean to tell me----” The eyes of the two men met; and Julian sprang to his feet with a fierce imprecation. “He knew it?” he cried; “he knew it, and kept it dark, that he might keep the market to himself? It isn’t possible, Ramsay; it isn’t possible!” “Nothing is impossible,” returned Ramsay quietly. A savage, hissing breath came from between Julian’s set teeth, and he seemed literally alive with passion. Without a word he stretched out his hand for his hat and turned to leave the room. Ramsay quietly intercepted his passage. “Where are you going?” he said. “I’m going to see Mr. Loring.” The slightest possible smile touched the elder man’s lips, and he said: “All right. I shall have something to say to Mr. Loring, too. But listen to me, first. Was it a desperate necessity to you to pull off this affair?” Julian did not speak. His lips twitched for a moment, then settled into a thin line; and the look in his eyes was answer enough. “Very good, then,” said Ramsay. “Come and see me here to-morrow at six. I may be able to give you a hand.” With a gesture of uncomprehending assent, but with no word of answer, Julian turned away and left the room. * * * * *