“Up to a point that is quite true,” he remarked, quietly. “Messrs. Smith and Co. have many ramifications of business—money-lending being only one of the irons they have in the fire. And because I have had many dealings with the firm professionally—over the sale of precious stones, I may say, which is my own particular line of work—they were disposed to take a lenient view about the question of the loan. Not press for payment, and perhaps—though I can’t promise this—even be content with a little less interest. But—er—Miss Daventry, it’s the other thing where the trouble is going to occur.” The girl stared at him with dilated eyes. “What other thing, Mr. Perrison?” “Hasn’t your brother told you?” said Perrison, surprised. “Oh, well, perhaps I—er—shouldn’t have mentioned it.” “Go on, please.” Her voice was low. “What is this other thing?” For a moment he hesitated—a well-simulated hesitation. Then he shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Well—if you insist. As a matter of fact, your brother didn’t tell me about it, and I only found it out in the course of my conversation with one of the Smith partners. Apparently some weeks ago he bought some distinctly valuable jewellery—a pearl-necklace, to be exact—from a certain firm. At least, when I say he bought it—he did not pay for it. He gave your father’s name as a reference, and the firm considered it satisfactory. It was worth about eight hundred pounds, this necklace, and your very stupid brother, instead of giving it to the lady whom, presumably, he had got it for, became worse than stupid. He became criminal.” “What do you mean?” The girl was looking at him terrified. “He pawned this necklace which he hadn’t paid for, Miss Daventry, which is, I regret to say, a criminal offence. And the trouble of the situation is that the firm he bought the pearls from has just found it out. He pawned it at a place which is one of the ramifications of Smith and Co., who gave him, I believe, a very good price for it—over five hundred pounds. The firm, in the course of business, two or three days ago—and this is the incredibly unfortunate part of it—happened to show this self-same necklace, while they were selling other things, to the man it had originally come from. Of course, being pawned, it wasn’t for sale—but the man recognised it at once. And then the fat was in the fire.” “Do you mean to say,” whispered the girl, “that—that they might send him to prison?” “Unless something is done very quickly, Miss Daventry, the matter will certainly come into the law courts. Messrs. Gross and Sons”—a faint noise from the darkness at the end of the conservatory made him swing round suddenly, but everything was silent again—“Messrs. Gross and Sons are very difficult people in many ways. They are the people it came from originally, I may tell you. And firms, somewhat naturally, differ, like human beings. Some are disposed to be lenient—others are not. I’m sorry to say Gross and Sons are one of those who are not.”