“Of the unpleasant happening at Gilder’s flat. This man proposed to your sister--you know that?” “Leslie told me,” said the other, after a moment’s silence. “And you were annoyed, one supposes? You will dismiss this clerk of yours to-morrow?” The other leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see why I should,” he said coolly. “After all, it’s no crime for any man to propose to a pretty girl. Of course, he’s not the sort of fellow I should choose for a brother-in-law, but if brothers had to choose husbands for their sisters, you know, Alford, there would be some very queer marriages!” “What is his pull?” asked Dick quietly. “I don’t----” “What is his hold on you?” “What the devil do you mean?” “Just what I say. You would never tolerate a man like Gilder paying attentions to your sister, apart from the insult he offered to a prospective Countess of Chelford, unless he had such a grip on you that all your natural indignation was crushed by the fear of some consequence he held over your head.” Arthur Gwyn found it difficult to control his voice. “My dear fellow, how very melodramatic!” he scoffed. “Hold over me! You must have been studying the latest Drury Lane play! Naturally, I would rather see Leslie married to your brother, but I certainly would put no obstacle in her way if her heart was set elsewhere.” “On Gilder, in fact?” “On Gilder,” nodded Arthur gravely, as though the matter had been the subject of deep thought and much self-communion. And then Dick Alford asked a question that brought the man to his feet, white and shaking. “Is it the question of the bills?” “The--the what?” faltered the lawyer. “The four bills which were supposed to be backed by my brother--the signatures being forgeries. I thought you knew that I had seen them. They were shown to me at the bank, and fortunately I did not disclaim them--fortunately for you, I mean. When I went to see them again they were taken up. I presume Mr. Fabrian Gilder redeemed them. That would have cost him a little over five thousand pounds, and I presume he did not do that out of sheer altruism.” Arthur Gwyn’s mouth was dry; he could scarcely articulate. “I didn’t know until to-day,” he muttered. “Harry was ill at the time. The money was due to me for--for--legal costs. I went down to the bank to take them up and found they had been honoured.” “Was that the pull?” He did not meet the steady gaze that was fixed on him. “Yes, that was the pull, if you want to know. You don’t suppose I’d allow Leslie to marry a swine like Gilder unless--unless he had something on me, do you? Can’t you understand my position, Alford? I’m ruined! That fellow could send me to jail--he still can.” Dick shook his head. “Fire him to-morrow,” he said. “If he produces the bills I will undertake that Harry will acknowledge the signatures.” The pink came back to the colourless face of the lawyer.