‘You’ve had no end of money,’ said the doctor. ‘Heaven only knows what you do with it. Why do you keep on this wretched den, and these wretched animals? You could afford to retire and live decently and in comfort.’ ‘No, I couldn’t. I’ve spent all the money I ever made. You don’t believe it, but I have. Besides, I must keep on this place. If I hadn’t a crib like this, how could I live? It isn’t so respectable as the old crib you and Egerton and Marston, and all the lot of you, was glad enough to come to once, perhaps, but it soots me quite as well.’ The man winked at the doctor as well as his bruised face would let him. The doctor thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked up and down the room, treading on the toy terrier’s tail, and narrowly escaping a grab from the bull-dog in consequence. ‘Heckett, do you ever think what might have happened if Marston had turned traitor?’ The invalid went pale on the only side of his face that could change colour. ‘Don’t talk like that,’ he growled. ‘I ain’t well, and it worrits me. Bah! he’s died in furrin parts, or gone too stone broke ever to get ‘ome agin. I ain’t always sure as may be it wasn’t him as done it. What did he bolt to America for directly afterwards? Only he hadn’t no motive, and the other had, and I allus looks at motives. Besides, anyway, it ‘ud be wus for you, now Egerton’s drownded, than it would for me. You’re better off now than you wos then, and he might want to go snacks, perhaps. A poor cove like me wouldn’t be high enough game for him to fly at.’ Birnie glanced at the old dog-fancier, as he lay with his grey hair straggling over his bandaged head. ‘You’re very poor, aren’t you, Heckett!’ he said presently with a peculiar intonation in his voice. ‘Yes, I am. Curse you! what do you look like that at me for? Perhaps you think I ain’t poor? Perhaps you thinks as I’m Baron Rotschild, a-livin’ in this here drum for the benefit o’ my ‘elth? Perhaps you thinks as I lends money to the Emperor O’ Rooshia at five per cent., and only goes out after dark, for fear the Goverment should call in the day-time for a loan, and have to go away without it?’ The old man rose in the bed, his body quivering with rage. ‘Nonsense, Heckett!’ said the doctor, trying to quiet him. ‘What a queer old fellow you are! Of course you’re poor. Why, you wouldn’t worry me for money as you do if you weren’t.’ ‘No, of course, I shouldn’t.’ ‘There, there,’ continued the doctor, arranging his pillows and smoothing the bandage that Heckett had moved in his excitement; ‘lie still and get well; that’s what you’ve got to do. I’ll come and see you again in a day or two.’ The doctor nodded to his patient, tumbled over the bulldog, and made a bolt for the door. Outside Gertie was waiting for him. ‘Your grandfather’s better, my child,’ he said. ‘He’ll be about in a week again. Good-bye.’