“It has also been rumoured,” Sir Richard continued, “that he was seen to enter my house that day, and that he remained there until late in the afternoon.” “Did he?” asked Ruff. “Certainly not,” Sir Richard answered. Peter Ruff yawned for a moment, but covered the indiscretion with his hand. “Respecting this inconvenience,” he said, “which you admit that the disappearance of Job Masters has caused you, what is its tangible side?” Sir Richard drew his chair a little nearer to the table where Ruff was sitting. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. “It seems absurd,” he said, “and yet, what I tell you is the truth. I have been followed about--shadowed, in fact--for several days. Men, even in my own social circle, seem to hold aloof from me. It is as though,” he continued slowly, “people were beginning to suspect me of being connected in some way with the man’s disappearance.” Ruff, who had been making figures with a pencil on the edge of his blotting paper, suddenly turned round. His eyes flashed with a new light as they became fixed upon his companion’s. “And are you not?” he asked, calmly. Sir Richard bore himself well. For a moment he had shrunk back. Then he half rose to his feet. “Mr. Ruff!” he said. “I must protest--” “Stop!” Peter Ruff used no violent gesture. Only his forefinger tapped the desk in front of him. His voice was as smooth as velvet. “Tell me as much or as little as you please, Sir Richard,” he said, “but let that little or that much be the truth! On those terms only I may be able to help you. You do not go to your physician and expect him to prescribe to you while you conceal your symptoms, or to your lawyer for advice and tell him half the truth. I am not asking for your confidence. I simply tell you that you are wasting your time and mine if you choose to withhold it.” Sir Richard was silent. He recognized a new quality in the man--but the truth was an awful thing to tell! He considered--then told. Ruff briskly asked two questions. “In alluding to your heavy settlement with Masters, you said just now that you could not have paid him--then.” “Quite so,” Sir Richard admitted. “That is the rotten part of the whole affair. Four days later a wonderful double came off--one in which we were all interested, and one which not one of us expected. We’ve drawn a considerable amount already from one or two bookies, and I believe even Masters owes us a bit now.” “Thank you,” Ruff said. “I think that I know everything now. My fee is five hundred guineas.” Sir Richard looked at him. “What?” he exclaimed. “Five hundred guineas,” Ruff repeated. “For a consultation?” Sir Richard asked. Peter Ruff shook his head.