"Ah! I don't think you yet understand Liane. She's not eager for money and position, like most girls." "Well, let me have a fair innings, Brooker, and she'll consent to become Princess d'Auzac, I feel convinced. You fancy I only admire her; but I swear it's a bit more than mere admiration. For Heaven's sake take her out of that dismal hole where you are living, and make her break it all off with Stratfield's son. She must do that at once. Take her to the seaside--to Paris--anywhere, for a month or two until we can all meet in the South." Brooker, leaning against the mantelshelf, slowly flicked the ash from his cigar, meditated deeply for a few moments, then asked-- "Why do you wish to take me back to the old spot?" "Because only there can you pick up a living. The police have nothing against either of us, so what have we to fear?" "Recognition by one or other of our dupes. Play wasn't all straight, you'll remember." "Bah!" cried Zertho with impatience. "What's the use of meeting trouble half-way? You never used to have a thought for the morrow in the old days. But, there, you're respectable now," he added, with a slight sneer. "If I go South I shall not play," Brooker said, decisively. "I've given it up." "Because you've had a long run of ill-luck--eh?" the other laughed. "Surely this is the first time you've adopted such a course. I might have been in the same unenviable plight as yourself by now if my respected parent had not taken it into his head to drop out of this sick hurry of life just at a moment when my funds were exhausted. One day I was an adventurer with a light heart and much lighter pocket, and on the next wealthy beyond my wildest expectations. Such is one's fortune. Even your bad luck may have changed during these months." "I think not," Brooker answered gravely. "Well, you shall have a thousand on loan to venture again," his old partner said good-naturedly. "I appreciate your kindness, Zertho," he answered, in a low tone, smiling sadly, "but my days are over. I've lost, and gone under." The prince glanced at him for an instant. There was a strange glint in his dark eyes. "As you wish," he answered, then walking to a small rosewood escritoire which stood in the window, he sat down and scribbled a cheque, payable to his friend for five hundred pounds. Brooker, still smoking, watched him in silence, unaware of his intention. Slowly the prince blotted it, folded it, and placing it in an envelope, returned to where his visitor was standing. "I asked you to take Liane from all the painful memories of Stratfield Mortimer. Do so for her sake, and accept this as some slight contribution towards the expense. Only don't let her know that it comes from me."