“No!” ejaculated Wingfield sharply. “I don’t believe it--it’s beneath him. We don’t understand each other at all if you think Wayne Craighill capable of anything so low, so base, so utterly despicable.” He took off his eye-glasses, swung them the length of their gold chain, and glared at Walsh when he had replaced them. “I should take the same view if I didn’t know some things that you don’t. I don’t question Wayne’s honour, but it’s no stronger than his sense of justice, and it’s the injustice that rankles and the feeling that the Colonel isn’t above magnifying his own virtue at the boy’s expense.” Wingfield nodded in affirmation, but his astonishment grew at the wide range Walsh’s thoughts had taken. “You imply that there are circumstances that confirm your impression that Wayne and Mrs. Craighill are not suitable companions for each other?” “I imply nothing as to the future, or the present either, for that matter. What may interest you--and this is entirely in confidence--is the fact that Mrs. Craighill knew Wayne before she knew the Colonel!” Walsh thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his office coat and chewed his cigar. He was no pedlar of gossip and Wingfield saw that he had not parted with this piece of information without a wrench. “How did he know her? Was it bad or good?” Walsh shook his head, and compressed his thin lips. “I guess it was all right. He might have married her himself if the circumstances had been quite normal, but he found that they were trying to railroad him into it, and he backed water.” “They?” queried Wingfield. “Um,” answered Walsh, looking out upon the snow-storm that raged in the narrow street. In the windows over the way blue shaded lamps in other counting rooms were lighted, and he rose to turn on his own. Wingfield saw that beyond the simple statement of fact Walsh would not go. Walsh was troubled. The light of the desk lamp sought out the deep lines of his face; his small gray eyes narrowed. Outside the door several of the clerical staff wondered at the length of the interview accorded by their chief to the tall gentleman with the dark beard. The fact that the shipping-clerk’s assistant had been dismissed in the midst of the call had sent a cold chill through the establishment: the old man, it was whispered, was out of sorts, and his state of mind they attributed to the malign influence of the tall person in spats. “Of course the Colonel didn’t know,” suggested Wingfield. “No; and that works into my general idea of what Wayne’s up to. Wayne had risen to the same fly but they failed to hook him. When he saw the Colonel about to swallow, bait and all, he lay low. It was the kind of thing he wanted. It tickled him to see the Colonel make a mistake.” “You think the Colonel was trapped. He’s an old hand--he knows the world. He must have had a lot of chances to marry women of position and wealth.” Walsh rubbed his face raspingly with his thick fingers.