If Errington had obeyed his impulse at that moment he would have apologized to Burroughs, and renounced Reinhardt and all his works once and for ever. But shame, the sense of being in the wrong, false pride, and above all the gambler’s perpetual hope of success, tied his tongue, and the precious moment slipped away. Burroughs was very much surprised to get his money back within a few days--before, as he knew, Errington had received any further remittances from Shanghai. "Much obliged, Moley," Errington said as he laid the notes beside his friend’s plate one morning. Burroughs glanced up, but Errington would not meet his eye; so with a "Thanks, old man!" as casual as Errington’s own remark, he put the notes into his pocket and began cheerfully to talk shop. But he was much disturbed in mind. If his chum had won the money, it would encourage him to go on gambling. If he had not won it, how had he obtained it so soon? Burroughs hoped with all his heart that he had not borrowed of Reinhardt or any other German of the set. It was bad enough that Reinhardt should entice his subordinate to play at all; and the low opinion that Burroughs held of him fell still lower. He would have been even more perturbed had he known the real source of Errington’s money. Restive under the disapproval, of which he was conscious, though Burroughs never again uttered it, the lad was foolish enough to apply to the Chinese money-lenders. They were ready to oblige a young Englishman, and fixed their interest to match the risk, as they said: which meant that they would squeeze as much as possible out of him by working on his fears of exposure and disgrace. The nightly card-parties went on, and Errington became a constant attendant. There grew up a constraint between the two friends. Burroughs was anxious and worried, and could not help showing it. Errington, in his own worried state of mind, was annoyed at his friend’s manner, all the more because he knew very well that he himself was in the wrong. His high spirits gave way to moodiness and irritability, and after a time he avoided Burroughs. It was a trying position for both of them, inmates of one lodging. They saw less and less of each other, and when they could not but meet, what conversation passed between them was almost confined to business matters. Naturally the affairs of the few Europeans in the town were freely discussed by their native servants and their cronies. Vague rumours came to Burroughs’ ears, after a long round, of what went on at Reinhardt’s card-parties. It appeared that Reinhardt himself was frequently the winner when the stakes were high, and Burroughs became less and less tolerant of a man who ought to have been particularly scrupulous in keeping his subordinate out of mischief. Reinhardt was always very polite and pleasant when he met Burroughs, but on more than one occasion the latter was rude to him. There were no half measures with Burroughs.