This was the sum and substance of Mrs Maitland's somewhat incoherently told story, and when Dick had heard it through to the end he had no reason to doubt its truth; but manifestly it was not at all the sort of story to be taken upon trust, it must be fully and completely investigated, if only for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not anything, however small, was to be saved from the wreck; accordingly, after partaking of a hasty lunch, young Maitland wended his way to the City, and there had a most discouraging interview with Mr Herbert, who was by this time busily engaged upon the preparation of a detailed statement of the position of affairs, for the information of his late employer's clients and creditors. This, Mr Herbert explained, was proving a task of much less difficulty than he had anticipated, since Cuthbertson had apparently kept an accurate account of all his gambling transactions--some of which had, latterly, been upon a gigantic scale-- with the evidently desperate resolution of recovering his former losses, or ruining himself in the attempt, while he had not destroyed any of his papers, as so many suicides do before perpetrating the final act of folly. The position of affairs, as outlined by Mr Herbert, was gloomy enough, but he made it clear to Dick that for the moment he was speaking with reserve, as it was impossible for him to say anything of an absolutely definite character until the investigation--which was being conducted with the aid of a firm of chartered accountants of high standing--should be complete. Having now ascertained all in connection with the deplorable business that was for the moment possible, Dick returned to his mother and did his best to comfort and encourage her; but, as might have been expected, his efforts met with no very great measure of success, seeing that there was practically nothing of a comforting or encouraging character in the story told him by Jonas Cuthbertson's chief clerk. The next morning Dick Maitland returned to Number 19 Paradise Street, where he found his friend Humphreys as busily engaged as ever in his work of healing the sick and comforting the sorrowing poor, and received a welcome from the cheery, genial medico that seemed to ease his shoulders of at least half their load of anxiety. But it was not until well on towards evening that the claims upon the Doctor's time and attention slackened sufficiently to afford an opportunity for Dick to tell his story, which, after all, was only an amplified edition of the story originally told in Mrs Maitland's letter. When at length the tale was fully told, and Humphreys had, by dint of much cross-questioning, fully mastered all its miserable details, he sat for half an hour or more, smoking diligently and silently as he considered in what way he could best help his young friend. At length, however, an idea seemed to occur to him, for he looked up and said: