At nine o'clock precisely, a sharp knock came to the door of the sitting-room, and Hench sprang up to greet his visitor. Vane was a tall, slim man, with a lean, hatchet face, keen dark eyes, and thin dark hair, touched already with grey although he was only thirty years of age. He was perfectly dressed and perfectly well-groomed, quick in his movements and a trifle saturnine in his manner. Some people were rather afraid of him, as he was always cold and cautious. But Owain knew that this frigid exterior concealed a truly warm heart, and that--as the saying goes--Vane's bark was worse than his bite. To his old school-chum he showed himself as he really was, and few would have recognized the chilly barrister in the smiling friend. It was as though ice had melted on a mountain-top to reveal a green sward. "Well, I am glad to see you again, Owain," said Vane, after shaking hands warmly; "it is quite six months since I set eyes on you. Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing with yourself? And where is that patriarchal beard which made you look like Abraham? H'm! You're in love." Hench stared and made his friend comfortable in an armchair. "What on earth makes you say that?" he inquired with a puzzled look. "No girl could possibly love a man with a beard which made him look one hundred and ten years old. You have met with a girl--with _the_ girl--and are in love. Therefore have you shaved your chin, reduced your age, and made yourself look like a young Greek god." "I don't feel like a Greek god, Jim," said Hench, taking a seat and glancing round to see that windows and doors were closed. "I'm worried." "Poor old chap," said Vane with quick sympathy; "rely on me to help. We always were pals at school, you know. Is it money?" "No. I have enough to keep me going. By the way, your mention of our being pals at school reminds me that I met another chap who was with us at Winchester ages ago." "Don't make us out to be as old as the hills, Owain. We're young yet, and the wine of life still sparkles in the bowl. Who is this chap?" "Spruce. He is----" "Oh Lord!" Vane removed his cigarette from his thin lips with an air of disgust. "I know what he is; you needn't tell me anything about him. You don't mean to say that you look upon him as a pal?" "No! He wanted me to but I couldn't stomach him and his dandified airs. If you want my opinion of him," continued Hench frankly, "he's a sickening little beast, as arrogant as they make them." "He's all that and more--one of the Gadarene swine. Where did you meet him?" "At a boarding-house in Bethnal Green." "Oh! That's the fox's hole, is it. I thought he would go further afield." "Has he any reason to go afield at all?" asked Hench, staring. "You bet he has, old fellow. Mr. Cuthbert Spruce has been a man on the market for quite a long time." "What is a man on the market?"