‘Devilish hard up, old man. So hard up that I have called for that bob you owe me for directing you to Little Queer Street the other night.’ The doctor started. ‘Good gracious, man! you don’t mean to say that was you?’ ‘It was. Here’s the card you gave me. I’ve given you three days credit as it is.’ Marston drew the card from his pocket and give it to Birnie. ‘That’s how I knew where to find you. Deuced funny how things come about, isn’t it?’ Marston laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, and the doctor didn’t respond to it. He looked very uncomfortable, and hesitated for a moment; then, assuming an air of nonchalance, he said, with an affectation of cheeriness: ‘Well, old fellow, I’m glad to see you. Will you come in and have a chat?’ ‘Just what I should like,’ answered Marston; ‘especially if there’s anything to eat with the chat.’ ‘Certainly, my dear boy. Come along.’ The doctor pushed his gate open and walked in, followed by Marston. As they entered the house the servant came running to the doctor to tell him of the pertinacious shabby gentleman’s visit. The look of disgust on her face when she saw the shabby gentleman in the hall, was intense. She tossed her head, muttered, ‘Well, I’m sure!’ and rushed downstairs to the kitchen to protect the spoons and forks. ‘And so you’ve come back again, Ned?’ said Dr. Birnie, as, a few minutes later, he sat in his library with the shabby gentleman. ‘Yes, I have. But pleasure before business, please.’ Mr. Marston was enjoying some cold meat and pickles, which the servant had been ordered to bring him up, much to her disgust. When he had finished he leaned back in the chair and fetched a deep breath. ‘By Jove, Birnie,’ he said, ‘that’s the first good meal I’ve made for a month!’ ‘Can I order a little more for you?’ ‘No, my boy; I won’t spoil my dinner.’ Mr. Marston had evidently made up his mind that he was not going short of good meals again in a hurry. Birnie eyed him nervously, and waited for him to grow communicative. He wasn’t comfortable. He was playing a game without knowing his opponent’s cards, and that was a style of play which had never suited Oliver Birnie. He had not long to wait. Do you know, it’s ten years since I left England,’ said Marston presently. ‘By Jove! there must have been some changes in our little party since then.’ ‘Indeed there have.’ ‘I come back and I find you a doctor, with a carriage and pair, a nice quiet villa, and a thundering cheeky slavy; I heard abroad that Gurth had got a windfall and was a regular tiptop swell now, and I’ll bet old Heckett hasn’t been behindhand in making hay. I’m the only one of the lot that’s down on my luck. I’ve been the scapegoat—that’s what I’ve been—and I assure you, my dear boy, I’ve grown tired of the character. I’ve come back to change places with one of you, and I’m not particular which.’ Birnie shot a keen, searching glance at his visitor.