"Is he well?" "Yes, Mr. Reginald. As well as ever. There is no change in him--no change!" He said this in the tone of a man who would not have grieved at a change for the worse in his employer's health. Mr. Reginald drew a silver watch from his pocket. "It is six o'clock. My time is my own. I will wait." "I earnestly beg you not to, Mr. Reginald." "Why?" "It would be difficult for me to get another situation." "I understand. I have no wish to injure you. I will call later." "I should not advise you. Earnestly, I should not advise you." "I don't ask your advice. I must see him, I tell you. I intend to see him." "Then I give it up. I am sorry you have come down in the world, Mr. Reginald." The young man looked at the clerk with a curious contraction of his brows. "How do you arrive at that conclusion?" Abel Death tapped his waistcoat pocket. "It used to be a gold one." "Now I call that clever of you," said Mr. Reginald, half merrily, half lugubriously, "but _your_ lines have not been cast in pleasant places; you should know something of the process." "I do," said Abel Death, in a dismal tone. "If the watch I now wear is an indication of my having come down in the world, why, then, I _have_ had a tumble. Am I interrupting your work?" "I have the books to make up." "I'll leave you to them. Would it be unfair to ask you to tell my father that I will call again at ten o'clock? He is sure to be disengaged at that hour." "Very unfair, Mr. Reginald. I wouldn't venture to tell him that I'd seen you." "In that case I'll not trouble you." "And if you do call again, Mr. Reginald, I beg you, as a particular favour, not to mention your present visit." "You have my promise." He turned to go, but paused to glance at the strange collection of goods in the room. "My father gets plenty of odd things about him. I see stories of wreckage in them." "Not our wreckage, Mr. Reginald." "No," said Mr. Reginald under his breath as he left the room, "other people's." CHAPTER II. SAMUEL BOYD SETS A TRAP FOR HIS DRUDGE.