“You’ll do this?” he said eagerly. “My God! you don’t know what a weight you’ve lifted off my mind. You’re a brick, by jove! I’ll fire him to-morrow.” He held out an eager hand and Dick took it with some hesitation. At the best of times Arthur Gwyn did not impress him; at this moment, almost incoherent with relief, he seemed a pitiful coward. “I will pay Harry every penny. I have something on the stocks now that will bring me in a fortune, that will wipe out all my debts and put me on my feet again.” There was humour in the situation; for the thing which was to rehabilitate his fortunes was no less than the barefaced robbery of Harry Chelford’s inheritance! But Arthur was not conscious of the irony of the position. He would deal with Gilder in the morning. Thank God he had not gone still deeper into the mire! The knowledge that in his pocketbook was another bill as yet unuttered, did not cool the glow of virtue he was experiencing. Henceforth he would walk the straight way. “There’s one thing you could do for me, Alford--hurry along that marriage. Fix it for next month if you can. Leslie is just a foolish girl, she is trying to put off the inevitable, but that’s natural, isn’t it? Can’t you buck up Harry----” Dick Alford looked at him steadily. “The matter must be left entirely to Leslie,” he said, and there was something very definite and final in those words. They came out of the library together; Leslie waiting, a little fearful, saw the smile on her brother’s face and breathed a sigh of thankfulness. “You’re not going?” Dick was reaching for his cap. “I have to get back to the house,” he said, and, seeing her look of disappointment, he stood irresolutely. “Come along in and play mah-jongg. I am in a mah-jongg mood,” said Arthur, almost jovially. If there was one thing that Dick could not endure that night it was to sit vis-à-vis with Arthur Gwyn. He would have liked to stay with the girl, but for the moment her brother seemed an inevitable third. And he was terribly informative. Arthur was in his most expansive mood. “Here is something that will interest you!” He pointed to the wall. Hanging against a dark wooden shield was an iron dagger--black and sinister, the handle worn smooth, the long blade notched and jagged. Dick had seen it before. “That should be at your place, Alford. The veritable dagger of the veritable Black Abbot’s slayer--Hubert of Redruth! Look at his arms on the hilt.…” “I have seen it,” said Dick shortly. “Put on your coat and come for a walk, Leslie,” he suggested, and the obliging Arthur, who would have been agreeable to any scheme he propounded, seconded the suggestion. XVIII The night was cool and dark. There was a full moon, visible at intervals through the drift of clouds. Leslie slipped her arm into his as they walked down the dark avenue toward the road. “Did you quarrel?” she asked.