"Bounder!" was the latter’s silent ejaculation. But he saw old John Dale standing in the doorway, so, giving Marjorie’s hand a gentle pressure, he left her. Telling Mr. Dale he had something to say to him in private he entered the dining-room. "You bring me bad news of my son," Dale said quietly. "I know it." "How did you?" Jim asked, off his guard. "Surely it hasn’t got into the local papers." Dale stepped forward instantly, then, gripping the back of his chair, sat down. "So, it’s true," he said in a broken voice. "It’s true." He gave a mirthless laugh. Jim tried to speak, but the words refused to come. He would have done anything to spare the father of the girl he loved. He would have borrowed the money from his father, hushed the affair up, and repaid the bank. He would have done anything. "It’s true he has been arrested," Jim said after he had given the old man time to recover himself. "But I’m quite sure he will be able to prove his innocence. I know my father thinks so, too. Indeed, he himself is employing the best legal advice he can obtain, and will see he is given every chance of defending himself. We want you to come up to town, if you will, sir, and, if possible, to catch the train to-day." He glanced at the grandfather clock in a corner of the room. "There is one that leaves Newton Abbot about two-thirty, I think. I can motor you in. I am sure Mr. Despard will accompany you." John Dale shook his head slowly to and fro. "Yes, I must go up. I must see him," he whispered. He rose to his feet and held out his hand. "You’re too good, Mr. James. I’m afraid—I’m afraid——" "You needn’t be," Jim interrupted quickly. "Rupert’s innocent, I’ll swear. Anyway, we’ll see to him and see that justice is done." "Yes; that’s so. Justice must be done at all costs." John Dale raised his head and looked proudly at Sir Reginald Crichton’s son. The latter took his hand and shook it warmly. "Then I’ll be round with the motor in about an hour’s time. Perhaps you’ll warn Mr. Despard that you want him to go with you. Anyway, under the circumstances, he could not be left here alone with your daughter, could he?" He walked to the door, then stopped. "There’s something else I would like to say, sir, though it may not seem quite the moment. I love your daughter Marjorie: I hope to make her my wife. With your permission I should like to announce our engagement at once." It was a long time before Dale replied. "That’s impossible now. But I thank you, Mr. Crichton.... It is just the sort of thing I—I would have expected—from Sir Reginald’s son."