“Then”—this, it was plain, was the verdict, and the other listened with all his ears—“if he is honest, he’ll not have mixed the money with his own. He’ll not have put it to an ordinary account, but to a Trust account—so that it will remain the property of the Company, and not be liable to calls on him. That’s what he should have done, anyway. Whether he has done it or not is another matter. He’s pressed, hard pressed, I hear, and I don’t know that we can expect the last spit of honesty from such as him. It’s not what I’ve been brought up to expect. But,” with a return of his former bitterness, “we may be changing places with ’em even in that! God knows! And I do know something that gives me to believe that he may behave as he should.” “You do?” Sir Charles exclaimed, his spirits rising. “You do think so?” “Well, I do,” reluctantly. “I’ll speak as I know. But if I were you I should go to him now and tell him, as one man to another, that that’s what you expect; and if he hangs back, tell him plain that if that money’s not put aside he’ll have to answer to the law for it. Whether that will frighten him or not,” the Squire concluded, “I’m not lawyer enough to say. But you’ll learn his mind.” “I’ll go in at once,” Sir Charles replied, thankfully. “I’m going in myself. If you’ll take me in—you’ve four horses—it will save time, and my people shall fetch me out in an hour or so.” Sir Charles assented with gratitude, thankful for his support; and Calamy was summoned. Two minutes later they got away from the door in a splutter of flying gravel and dead beech leaves. They clattered down the stony avenue, over the bridge, and into the high road.