Oliver turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience. He knew the voice well enough, and the moon-light left him no doubt as to the lineaments of a face with which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was not unlike either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not possess her beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type of feature, her colorless skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness had degenerated, however, into an unhealthy pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was terribly out at elbows; his coat was green with age, his boots were broken, and his cuffs frayed and soiled. His hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in two or three places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as could possibly have been found for either in the world of London. Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him back a little. "You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he said, coolly; "and you have been smoking bad tobacco. I wish you would consult my susceptibilities on those points when you come to interview me. You would really find it pleasanter in the end." "Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities with?" asked the man, with a burst of what seemed like very genuine feeling. "Will you provide me with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to drink British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink something--I must smoke something. Will you pay the piper if I go to more expense?" "Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of every passing policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you want to talk to me, as you say you do, keep quiet please." Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation on his brother below his breath, and then went on in a lowered tone. "It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a wife and a lot of debts. _You_ haven't to keep out of the way for fear you should be wanted by the police--although you have not been very particular about keeping your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky dog and I the unlucky one, and this is the result." "If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said Oliver, calmly, "I shall turn round and go home again. If you will keep a civil tongue in your head I don't mind listening to you for five minutes. What have you got to say?" The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed irritation. His brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at his beard, he looked at Oliver with furtive hate from under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's cool tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in check. He made a visible effort to calm himself as he replied,