James Quinn took the letter, and turned it over slowly. Then, without opening it, he laid it on the table in front of him. His eyes travelled from it to Hyacinth’s face, and rested there. It was some time before he spoke, and then it was to correct Hyacinth upon a trivial point. ‘My half-brother,’ he said. ‘My father married twice, and Albert is the son of his second wife. You may have noticed that he is a great deal younger than I am.’ ‘He looks younger, certainly,’ said Hyacinth, for the other was waiting for a reply. ‘Nearly twenty years younger. Albert is only just thirty.’ The exact age of the Captain was uninteresting and seemed to be beside the purpose of the visit. Hyacinth shifted his chair and fidgeted, uncertain what to do or say next. ‘Albert gave you this letter to me. Is he a friend of yours?’ ‘No.’ James Quinn looked at him again steadily. It seemed--but this may have been fancy--that there was a kindlier expression in his eyes after the emphatic repudiation of friendship with Albert. At length he took up the letter, and read it through slowly. ‘Why did my brother give you this letter?’ The question was a puzzling one. Hyacinth had never thought of trying to understand the Captain’s motives. Then the conversation in the hotel recurred to him. ‘He said that he wanted to do a good turn to me and to you also.’ ‘What had you done for him?’ ‘Nothing whatever.’ Apparently James Quinn was not in the least vexed at the brevity of the answers he received, or disturbed because his cross-examination was obviously disagreeable to Hyacinth. ‘In this letter,’ he went on, referring to the document as he spoke, ‘he describes you as a young man who is “certainly honest, probably religious, and possibly intelligent.” I presume you know my brother, and if you do, you may be surprised to hear that I am quite prepared to take his word for all this. I have very seldom known Albert to tell me lies, and I don’t know why he should want to deceive me in this case. Still, I am a little puzzled to account for his giving you the letter. Can you add nothing in the way of explanation to what you have said?’ ‘I don’t know that I can,’ said Hyacinth. ‘Will you tell me how you met my brother, and what he is doing now, or where he is?’ ‘I do not think I should be justified in doing so.’ ‘Ah, well! I can understand that in certain circumstances Albert would be very grateful to a man who would hold his tongue. He might be quite willing to do you a good turn if you undertook to answer no questions about him.’ He smiled as he spoke, a little grimly, but there was laughter lurking in the corners of his eyes. A Puritan will sometimes smile in such a way at the thought of a sinful situation, too solemn to be laughed at openly, but appealing to a not entirely atrophied sense of humour. Hyacinth felt reassured. ‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘I made no promise of silence. It is only that--well, I don’t think----’