Burroughs was but a poor actor, and his manner, rather than his tone, told Errington that he was labouring under some strong feeling. Nervous and irritable as he was, Errington at once took offence. "I shouldn’t listen to gossip, if I were you," he said; "next time come straight to me." "As it happens, I have come straight to you as soon as I had seen with my own eyes what I wouldn’t believe when I heard it. I don’t want any more information than your signature." "Look here, do you mean to be offensive, or can’t you help it? Say straight out that you think I’ve gone behind your back, if you do think it." "Well then, if you want it straight, you shall have it," said Burroughs, losing his temper. "I’ve seen your order, signed with your initials. After our agreement it would have been bad enough if I’d said nothing to you; but having myself given you the terms, in confidence, as I supposed----" "That’s enough!" cried Errington, springing up, his eyes ablaze with anger. "You’ve been looking accusations against me for months past, and I’ve had enough of it. You always had the makings of a fine prig. Until you beg my pardon, I swear I’ll have nothing more to do with you." And flinging out of the office, he slammed the door behind him. Burroughs was as much hurt as enraged. This was the first serious row between them since their early school-days. But he was not inclined to apologize. He felt that he had asked for information in a perfectly civil way; and though, in his heart, he could not help suspecting that there was possibly some mistake, the sarcasm of his old friend had wounded him too bitterly for him to hold out the olive branch. When he went home to the chummery, the gravity of the quarrel was proved by the fact that Errington had removed all his personal belongings. "Where’s Mr. Errington?" he asked of Chin Tai, his servant. "He gone wailo Mass’ Leinhadt," said the man, grinning. He was glad to have seen the back of Lo San, Errington’s man. And next morning, when Lo San brought an envelope containing a remittance for the entire amount that Errington owed him, Burroughs felt still more deeply incensed. To repay him with money borrowed from the German seemed the finishing stroke to their old friendship. In the old days, a quiet talk would have set matters right instantly; but the previous coolness between them, due to Errington’s gambling, rendered that course now impossible.