He went into his study and sat down before the fire. So it was funny to be a faithful husband? And suddenly he thought: ‘If my wife can treat this as a joke, what--what about herself?’ A nasty thought! An unconscionable thought! Really, it was as though that blackmailing scoundrel had dirtied human nature till it seemed to function only from low motives. A church clock chimed. Six already! The ruffian would be back there on the Embankment waiting for his ten pounds. Granter rose. His duty was to go out and hand him over to the police. ‘No!’ he thought viciously, ‘let him come here! I’d very much like him to come here. I’d teach him!’ But a sort of shame beset him. Like most very big men, he was quite unaccustomed to violence--had never struck a violent blow in his life, not even in his school-days--had never had occasion to. He went across to the window. From there he could just see the Embankment parapet through the trees in the failing light, and presently--sure enough--he made out the fellow’s figure slinking up and down like a hungry dog. He stood watching, jingling his money--nervous, sarcastic, angry, very interested. What would the rascal do now? Would he beard this great block of flats? And was the girl down there too--the girl, with her yellow baby? He saw the slinking figure cross from the far side and vanish under the loom of the mansions. In that interesting moment Granter burst through the bottom of one of his trousers’ pockets; several coins jingled on to the floor and rolled away. He was still looking for the last when he heard the door-bell ring--he had never really believed the ruffian would come up! Straightening himself abruptly, he went out into the hall. Service was performed by the mansion’s staff, so there was no one in the flat but himself and his wife. The bell rang again; and she, too, appeared. “This is my Embankment friend, no doubt, who amuses you so much. I should like you to see him,” he said grimly. He noted a quizzical apology on her face and opened the hall door. Yes! there stood the man! By electric light, in upholstered surroundings, more ‘down and out’ than ever. A bad lot, but a miserable poor wretch, with his broken boots, his thin, twisted, twitching face, his pinched shabby figure--only his hungry eyes looked dangerous. “Come in,” said Granter. “You want to see my wife, I think.” The man recoiled. “I don’t want to see ’er,” he muttered, “unless you force me to. Give us _five_ pound, guv’nor, and I won’t worry you again. I don’t want to cause trouble between man and wife.” “Come in,” repeated Granter; “she’s expecting you.” The man stood, silently passing a pale tongue over a pale upper lip, as though conjuring some new resolution from his embarrassment. “Now, see ’ere, mister,” he said suddenly, “you’ll regret it if I come in--you will, straight.” “I shall regret it if you don’t. You’re a very interesting fellow, and an awful scoundrel.”