There was something different in her manner; something almost nervous; something apparently less hostile. Andrew glanced at her suspiciously. What new move in her diabolical game did this signify? "I've got letters to write," he answered coldly, and shut the door decisively behind him. The fair widow sighed, and again picked up a letter lying in her lap and looked at it unhappily. She had kept her word and written to Charlie Munro, and unfortunately Heriot had forgotten to warn him that his answer to any such communication must be exceedingly discreet. No wonder she seemed distressed. Naturally, the junior partner gave his fair enemy no information regarding his movements. She saw him leave in the morning as usual, apparently to go to the office, and it was not till some time later that she learned from his aunt of his departure for London. Curiously enough, she seemed rather pleased than otherwise by this move. Her correspondence with Colonel Munro had left the most unsettling effects. Meanwhile, Andrew was nearing London. He was pleased to find his train arrive upon the stroke of 6:15, for he valued punctuality above everything except his reputation. From the station he drove to the large political club where he always put up, ate a dinner that exactly accorded with his station in life, and took a horse bus to the Hotel Gigantique. (Motor buses were only just beginning to be seen upon the streets at that time, and he was always suspicious of noisy innovations.) By the merest chance, the first person he saw in the hall of the hotel was Frank, attired in overcoat and opera hat, and evidently bound for some extravagant expedition, the cost of which would no doubt be defrayed by his parent to the detriment of his brother's and sisters' patrimony. "Well, Frank," said the elder brother, "where's your father?" The "your" was a subtle indication of the depth to which Mr. Walkingshaw had fallen in the estimation of the right-minded. "Out of town," said Frank briefly. "Where's he gone?" Frank shook his head. "You can ask at the office," he suggested. "Do you mean to say you don't know?" "I mean to say it's none of my business." Andrew had begun the conversation in a decidedly hectoring manner. He now began to alter his key a little. "Look here, Frank, things are pretty serious. We've got to stop this tomfoolery." The other interrupted him. "What tomfoolery?" "Making an exhibition of himself all over London, and wasting his money at a place like this. You know perfectly well what I mean." "I only know that he's in the best form I've ever seen him in my life. He's just a devilish kind and sporting guv'nor, that's what he is." "If you mean going about the most disreputable places in London in a half-intoxicated condition--" "That's a lie, anyhow," said Frank calmly, yet with a glint in his eye. His brother recoiled a pace, but his manner grew none the less uncompromising.