Woodman’s expectations were probably small. But Walter Brooklyn had good reason to believe that, despite his apparent prosperity, Woodman was hard pressed for money. Left alone in Woodman’s office for a few minutes the week before, he had hurriedly turned over certain private papers on the desk, and had gathered enough information to be sure that Woodman, like himself, would do a good deal for a supply of ready money. Might not this fact, he wondered, open up the possibility of a bargain? If, as he believed, the will was now in his favour, he could offer Woodman very favourable terms for negotiating an advance on his behalf. He would offer Woodman a share—a substantial share—as a loan—of whatever he could raise on the strength of Walter’s expectations. Why waste time? He would at least see at once whether Woodman was at his office, and try to arrange an appointment. The telephone was at his elbow, and he rang up. Woodman was there, and Walter got straight through to him. His clerks had already gone home for the night. “Who is speaking?” came the voice from the other end. “Walter Brooklyn this end. I want to see you as soon as possible.” As he gave his name, Walter heard a gasp from the man at the other end of the wire. Then, “Where are you speaking from?” came the voice. “Not from Brixton, if that is what you mean. I’m speaking from the Byron Club.” “Good God, man! How on earth——” “The police released me this afternoon. I am completely cleared of this charge, although I understand you were good enough to believe me guilty.” To this there came no answer. “I must see you privately at once.” “What about?” “I’ll tell you that when we meet. Will you come round here?” “When?” “To-night, if you can. I shall be in my room all the evening.” “Not to-night. I have an engagement.” “Then to-morrow morning.” “Very well. At about eleven.” “I’ll be here. Good-night.” Each man as he hung up the receiver had plenty to think about. Brooklyn was perfecting his scheme for raising a loan with Woodman’s aid, and reflecting upon the various ways in which he might approach the subject. Carter Woodman also stood silent with a heavy frown on his face. The fact that Walter Brooklyn had been released, although the evidence against him seemed overwhelming, came as a great surprise to Woodman. Something curious must have happened, When Brooklyn rang off, he had been on the point of asking for further details. He would get them somehow elsewhere. He would try to see the inspector. He rang up Scotland Yard. “Hallo. Is that Inspector Blaikie? Carter Woodman speaking.” “Is that you, Mr. Woodman? I was just trying to get through to you myself. Are you at your office? Then may I come around and see you for a few minutes? Will what you wanted to say to me keep till I get round? Very well, I’ll be with you in half a jiffy.”