“Once or twice I thought of coming over to see you,” Gilder went on, “but I’ve always had what I think to be a natural reluctance to intrude myself in a social capacity upon my chief. If you had ever invited me to come and stay a week-end at your place I would have come, and you would have known all about my presence in the neighbourhood. As it was, I felt very much in the position of a servant enjoying himself in his own independent way and feeling no need to consult his employer as to how he should employ his spare time--and money.” “And money,” repeated Arthur. “I didn’t know you were so well off, Gilder.” Mr. Gilder inclined his head. “I have already hinted to you that I have made considerable sums. There, again, it has never seemed necessary that I should keep you acquainted with my bank balance.” “You have had a moderate salary,” said Arthur significantly. “Not a generous amount, I agree; certainly not an amount from which a man could save a sum sufficient to buy and rebuild Red Farm and maintain it.” For answer Gilder put his hand in his pocket and, taking out a little Russian-leather note case, laid it on the table. The name in gold letters upon the cover was that of a bookmaker who carried one of his employer’s biggest accounts. With this firm Arthur had lost his largest bets, for Truman’s had offered him facilities which other houses had denied to him. “Truman?” He frowned. “What has that to do with it? Have you been backing horses?” Gilder shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “I am Truman.” Arthur Gwyn gaped at him. Truman! The bookmaker to whom for weeks in succession he had been paying thousands upon thousands of pounds! “Then the money you have--is my money!” he gasped. “Your money?” said the other quietly. “If Truman’s had not taken it, some other bookmaker would have done so. When you won you were paid--have you any complaints?” “My money!” muttered Arthur. Gilder replaced the book in his pocket. “You remember five years ago complaining to me that you couldn’t find bookmakers who would take big bets by telegram within a few minutes of the race? That little talk gave me an idea. I knew you lost steadily, that you were one of those--unfortunate people----” “Say ‘fools’--that was the word on your lips.” “‘Mug’ was the word,” said Mr. Gilder, with great calmness. “I knew you were one of those people who couldn’t stop betting. So Truman’s came into existence. Their book of rules was sent to you, featuring the important concession that you could wire big sums of money up to within a few minutes of a race. Do you know how much you’ve lost in the last five years?” Arthur was pale with fury, but, mastering himself, shook his head. “You have lost sixty-three thousand pounds to Truman alone,” said the other slowly. “And I have won it!”