Marston read it. It was to the effect that Ralph Egerton had been attended for so many days by Oliver Birnie, his regular medical attendant, and had died from a complication of diseases—the diseases which a life of drinking and dissipation would probably culminate in. ‘All this had occurred before I left England,’ he said, as he handed it back to the doctor. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with my £500.’ The doctor threw his tobacco-pouch across to him. ‘Have another pipe, and be patient. You’ll see directly. Well, after Ralph Egerton had been buried, it was found that Gurth was his next heir, and came into all the property; and a nice little haul it was. There was a lot of ready money, and some comfortable house property, and no end of stocks and shares.’ ‘I didn’t know that Gurth was the heir when I left,’ said Marston. ‘Of course you didn’t. You might not have gone if you had known, eh?’ ‘That’s a matter I won’t discuss now,’ answered Marston. ‘All I know is that I’m back again, that I haven’t got a mag in the world, and that, as you and Egerton seem to have done so well, perhaps you’ll come down handsomely for an old friend.’ ‘My dear fellow, that’s just where you make the mistake. I am not a rich man. I’ve got a little practice, and I have a carriage and pair for appearance sake, in the hope of working up a better. It isn’t mine. I hire it when I want it, and use it as an advertisement. This house I have lived in since Ralph died here. Gurth let it to me cheap on a long lease. Gurth has behaved very handsomely to me, and, as a matter of fact, that is the reason I have been able to appear well-to-do on a practice which really is not lucrative.’ ‘I don’t suppose generosity had much to do with it,’ growled Marston. ‘As you will, my boy. It isn’t worth while discussing the motive—the fact remains. Gurth has done well since you left. I have only done well through Gurth.’ ‘I see what you are driving at,’ said Marston. ‘You mean that if I want help Gurth is the man I ought to go to. Well, where is he?’ ‘At the bottom of the sea,’ answered the doctor, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. Ned Marston jumped up in a rage and strode across the room to where Birnie sat. ‘Look here, Oliver Birnie,’ he cried, clutching his arm, ‘this game doesn’t suit me. I’m not to be humbugged by your cool as a cucumber business. I’m back in London, and I’ve got to live. I look for my old friends, and I can find only one of them—you. You owe me £500, statute or no statute—are you going to pay it?’ ‘My dear fellow, it was only a gambling debt in the first place, and in the second it’s not recoverable on account of its age.’ ‘I only ask you for £500 for this bit of paper. Give me that, and I’ll make a fair start, and go ahead right enough. I’ve got my wits about me, and pluck enough for a dozen man. Give me the money, and you won’t be troubled with me any more.’