"Quite so. By the end of the week. You wanted that money badly at the time. I lent it you on the condition that you allowed me to take a judgment for the debt. I brought a friendly action against you to recover the money, and you allowed judgment to go by default. It is a little formula that is sometimes gone through in the City, Miss Mary, to enable one or more fortunate creditors to have the preference over the rest. When I signed judgment I was in a position to levy execution as it is called. That is another technical expression that means that I am in a position now to place men in possession here and to hold everything till the debt and costs are paid in full. In vulgar circles this is called 'having the bailiffs in.' It happens with such people as struggling tradesmen and the like who cannot pay their rent. It is held to be a terrible disgrace amongst the poor. Common men come in and take possession of the drawing-room, where they smoke clay pipes and drink beer. Try to imagine a dirty creature of this kind with his feet on your Louis Quinze furniture, Miss Mary. The very idea causes you to look pale and ghastly. And yet such things have happened, and history is always repeating itself." The speaker paused and smiled, his words were horribly slow and grating. Mary laid her hand on her heart as if some sharp fear thrilled her. "Is--is it possible for you to do this thing?" she asked. "Indeed it is," said Mayfield with the same hard smile. "I could do it today--as soon as I reach town, in fact. Quite like a scene from a modern melodrama, is it not? Well, goodbye, Sir George; goodbye, Miss Mary. I see my luggage is on the car and my chauffeur is waiting. I will not intrude myself on you any longer. When my slaves of the law, with their clay pipes and dirty boots arrive, there will be no necessity to ask them to have dinner at the same table as yourself. Goodbye." With a sign of his hand, Mayfield motioned to his chauffeur. The great car came along with a fuss and a clatter, and Mayfield sprang to the side of the driver. He pulled off his hat with a gesture of mocking humility and the car dashed away. Sir George sprang up, but too late. The car was disappearing now in a cloud of dust down the drive. With a face white as death Mary turned to her father. "Is this thing true?" she asked hoarsely. "Are you still in that man's power? Is it quite impossible for you to get the money today?" "Quite," Sir George groaned. "I--I had forgotten that judgment. I should have waited; I should not have shown my hand so soon. But he will never do it; he was dismayed to find my position so strong; he merely meant to frighten me." "He _will_ do it," Mary cried. "I saw it in his face, in his wicked eyes. A disgrace like that would break my heart, father. What is to be done to avert this awful calamity? No sacrifice could be too great. And I can think of absolutely nothing!" CHAPTER X. SKIN DEEP