Professor Crowitzski sat upright in his chair. A mist seemed to float before his eyes; his heart began to beat as if it would choke him. He felt as if the room were spinning round, and he grasped the arms of the chair tightly to try to steady himself. When, after a few moments, he spoke, his voice sounded faint and far away. “And--and--my--money?” he gasped, with pauses between each word. John Surtees looked down into the fire and gave his head a little shake. “Is it all gone?” said the old man in a kind of breathless voice. There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and the cries of the paper boys in the street. Then the stockbroker turned round. “I am exceedingly sorry to have to tell you,” he said, speaking rather hurriedly. “It is all gone, and there is no help for it. No one--nothing could have saved it; the panic was too sudden and too violent. If I could have done anything, I would; but it was hopeless. It is hard--very hard--not only on you, but on lots of other people too. Not that that's much consolation to you!” The Professor sat perfectly still, as if turned to stone, gazing straight into the fire, but seeing nothing. He was so still and silent that Mr. Surtees began to feel alarmed as to the possible results of the shock. He moved a step forward and gently laid his hand on the old man's shoulder. “Look here, Professor,” he said kindly, “don't take it so much to heart; your friends will be sure to look after you. If I can be of any service to you in the way of a little loan for present use--no hurry as to repayment, you know, just as between friends--I shall be most happy, most happy.” The poor Professor drew a long breath and looked up into his face with a vacant, unseeing expression in his eyes as of one struck blind. “Friends!” he said slowly and brokenly. “My friends are long dead. I have no one left.” He attempted to rise, but the stockbroker pressed him down again. “Don't hurry away,” he said. “Stop here and rest a bit. You won't be in my way. I'm going to give you a small brandy and soda--capital thing for you just now.” He went across the room to get it out of a cupboard near the window and was taking the stopper out of the little brandy decanter when the sound of the Professor's voice arrested him. He had risen from the big arm-chair and stood in the middle of the room, leaning heavily on his stick. “I cannot take it,” he said, more firmly than he had yet spoken. “I cannot take it! It is years since I tasted wine or spirits, and my head is not clear enough. I must go home to rest and think--if I can.” He moved towards the door, and the stockbroker saw it was useless to try to detain him. However, he made one more little effort. “You'll let me advance you five pounds for the present, at any rate,” he said, “just as a matter of convenience, you know, till we can think what can be done for you.” The old man shook his head.