"Ah, Geoff, the same old tale! Deecie has told me all about it. I won't reproach you; you know, if I had some, you should have it; but I'm not sure that it isn't just as well for both ourselves that I haven't, Geoff." "You have some money in your pocket now." Mr. Osborne's amazement grew apace--his friend's manner was so very strange. "What a nose you always have for money; however did you find that out? But it isn't mine. You know Jim Baker left me guardian to that boy of his, and I've been drawing the youngster's dividends--it's only seventy pounds, Geoff." Mr. Fleming stretched out his hand--his reply was brief and to the point. "Give it to me!" "Give it to you!--Geoff!--young Baker's money!" Mr. Fleming reiterated his demand. "Give it to me!" His manner was not only distinctly threatening, it had a peculiar effect upon his friend. Although Mr. Osborne had never before shewn fear of any living man, and had, in that respect, proved his superiority over Fleming many a time, there was something at that moment in the speaker's voice, or words, or bearing, or in all three together, which set him shivering, as if with fear, from head to foot. "Geoff!--you are mad! I'll see what I can find for you, but I can't give you young Baker's dividends." Mr. Osborne was not quite clear as to exactly what it was that happened. He only knew that the friend of his boyhood--the man for whom he had done so much--the only person in the world who loved him--rose and took him by the throat, and, forcing him backwards, began to rifle the pocket which contained the seventy pounds. He was so taken by surprise, so overwhelmed by a feeling of utter horror, against which he was unable even to struggle, that it was only when he felt the money being actually withdrawn from his pocket that he made an attempt at self-defence. Then, when he made a frantic clutch at his assailant's felonious arm, all he succeeded in grasping was the empty air. The pressure was removed from his throat. He was able to look about him. Mr. Fleming was gone. He thrust a trembling hand into his pocket--the seventy pounds had vanished too. "Geoff! Geoff!" he cried, the tears streaming from his eyes. "Don't play tricks with me! Give me back young Baker's dividends!" When no one answered and there seemed no one to hear, he began to searching round and round the room with his eyes, as if he suspected Mr. Fleming of concealing himself behind some article of furniture. "Geoff! Geoff!" he continued crying. "Dear old boy!--give me back young Baker's dividends!" "Hullo!" exclaimed a voice--which certainly was not Mr. Fleming's. Mr. Osborne turned. Colonel Lanyon was standing with the handle of the open door in his hand. "Frank, are you rehearsing for a five-act tragedy?" Mr. Osborne replied to the Colonel's question with another. "Lanyon, did Geoffrey Fleming pass you as you came in?"