“Tough customers!” he said. “Sharks, all of them. Are you sure this is all?” “I am quite sure,” said Mowle. “I may as well tell you, sir, that my informant is the confidential clerk to Mr. V.’s solicitors.” He paused a moment. “He owes us a hundred or two----” “Us?” said Bartley Bradstone, with a frown. Mr. Mowle coughed and glanced up nervously. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Bartley; I should have said me! He owes me; just so.” Bartley Bradstone eyed him with suspicious displeasure. “Look here, Mowle,” he said. “That’s rather an awkward slip of yours. I hope it doesn’t occur with other people. They’ll be asking who the ‘us’ is.” “No, sir; no, Mr. Bartley, I’m careful. I’m cautious in the extreme. Why, Mr. Bartley, if you think of the years I’ve kept the business dark----” “I know, I know. I only warned you,” interrupted Bartley Bradstone. “Once let a hint of our connection get abroad, and--well, I think you know the consequences. I’ve still got that interesting little check you so kindly signed with my name.” Mr. Mowle’s colorless face grew livid, his cadaverous lips twitched, and his bony hands closed convulsively. “You’ve no reason to fear, Mr. Bartley,” he said, almost inaudibly, his hands shaking. “No, it is you who have reason to fear,” retorted Mr. Bradstone. “I’m a man of my word, as you know, and I mean that if the slightest suspicion is aroused that you are working for me, I hand that check over to the police and send you to penal servitude.” Mr. Mowle nodded. “I know you will, sir,” he said, moistening his lips, “and I am cautious accordingly. I think you’ll admit that, Mr. Bartley? For nearly twelve years I’ve worked for you, and thousands upon thousands have passed through these hands”--he extended them--“and every penny has been accounted for. And no one--no one, Mr. Bartley--has ever heard me mention your name, or suspected that you were my master.” Mr. Bradstone nodded. “It’s well for you they haven’t,” he said, coldly. “It is more important than ever that our connection should be kept dark. I don’t like the risk of your coming here even.” “I’ve been very careful,” said Mowle, meekly; “I didn’t give the servant my name. I said I’d brought a note from your London tailor.” Mr. Bradstone nodded. “Yes, and you’re right in going back to-night. Now take my instructions.” Mr. Mowle took out his pencil, and looked up at his master with a dogged intentness. “Buy Mr. V.’s debts,” said Bartley Bradstone, coolly, but with his eyes downcast. Mr. Mowle did not start, but his eyes blinked, and he turned them upon Bartley Bradstone. “You quite understand--I made myself clear, I hope, sir--that Mr. V. couldn’t possibly pay if he were pressed?” “Yes, I understood,” said Bartley Bradstone. “I don’t suppose he could. All the same I want these bills and I O U’s. All of them, mind! Don’t let one escape.” Mr. Mowle nodded. “I shall have to pay, sir,” he said, succinctly. Bartley Bradstone sighed.