"He’s such a darling," she burst out, "but he’s so innocent. He doesn’t know anything about money or the world." "Do you?" asked Hewson, gently. "That doesn’t matter. A girl needn’t. But I know he’s just mad to get more money—not for himself—but for me. He wants to give me a good time—like other girls, he says." She paused a moment, and frowned. "There was a man here—a few weeks ago—and daddy met him. He came to dinner. I didn’t trust him, Mr. Hewson; there was something—oh! I don’t know. I suppose I’m very ignorant myself. But I’m certain that he persuaded daddy to do something with his money. He was always going to the bank, and sending registered letters, after the man left. And he’s been worried ever since—until yesterday—when he recovered all his old spirits." The train was already running into Barnstaple—the quickest journey that Charles Hewson had ever made in his life. "I don’t think," he said, gravely, "that I shall be letting out the secret if I tell you that my visit to London concerns that man, and some money he invested for your father. There’s a little delay in the business—and I’m going to see about it." They walked out of the station towards the bank, the girl clasping the precious envelope tightly. "I want to see the manager," said Hewson to the cashier. "Hewson is my name." With astonishing alacrity the manager appeared from his office. "Come in, Mr. Hewson—come in." He stepped aside as the girl, followed by Hewson, entered his sanctum. "I am doing some business for Mr. Crossley, of Umberleigh," said Hewson, quietly. "This is his daughter, Miss Crossley. It concerns some shares—the certificate of which I propose to take to London with me. Would you be good enough to assure Miss Crossley that I am a fit and proper person to be entrusted with such a matter? I happen to be a stranger to them." The manager’s face had changed through various stages of bewilderment while Hewson was speaking, but he was saved the necessity of an immediate answer by the girl. Charles Hewson—_the_ Charles Hewson—coming to him to be vouched for! "This is the paper." The girl handed it over to him, and a little dazedly he took the certificate from the envelope. "A very admirable security," said Hewson, deliberately, "bought by Mr. Crossley a month ago." "Very admirable!" spluttered the manager, only to relapse into silence under the penetrating stare of Hewson’s eye. "And if you will just vouch for me to Miss Crossley, I don’t think we need detain you further." "With pleasure." Matters were completely beyond him: but, at any rate, he could do that. "You can place things in Mr. Hewson’s hands with absolute confidence, Miss Crossley." "Thank you," said the girl, and they all rose. He opened the door and she passed into the bank. For one moment the two men were alone, and Hewson seized the manager by the arm. "Not a word," he whispered. "They don’t know who I am. Father been swindled by some swine in London."