"Humph! Perhaps," said Ackworth, grudgingly; "but the money?" "I can't say anything about that." "If Mr. Horran had forty thousand paid to him in gold," said Anthony, firmly, "he must either have spent it by secretly going to town, and to places like the Shah's Rooms, where I saw him; or he must have concealed the money somewhere. Now you can't find the money and the lawyer can't account for it in a business way. It only remains, from a common-sense point of view, that Horran really was a profligate, and used his illness as a mask." "But the doctors--both Dr. Jerce and Dr. Wentworth--say that the post-mortem examination showed that Uncle Henry really was ill," persisted Clarice, much distressed. "The thing in the brain, whatever they called it, quite accounted for the symptoms which so puzzled them." "Then I give it up," said Anthony. "So do I," replied Clarice, promptly. "I am not going to trouble any more about that missing money, or about the capture of Osip, or about anything else. I must settle Ferdy's future, and then we can marry." This speech was quite agreeable to Ackworth, who had long wished to bring her to this point. While they were talking about more pleasant subjects connected with their marriage, Jane limped in at the open window, and immediately went to Anthony. The dog was fond of the young man, and showed her pleasure by rubbing her head against his knee, and looking up at him with faithful eyes. "Jane loves you as much as she hates Dr. Jerce," said Clarice, patting the dog's shaggy coat. "Why should she hate Jerce?" "I don't know, especially as he was kind to her. He found her in Whitechapel, starving and wet, and took her home. But she hated him so much that he had to get rid of her. He intended to have her poisoned, but I asked him to give her to me. Dear Jane, she is so faithful. All the same, she should like Dr. Jerce for his kindness." "I am glad she doesn't," said Anthony. "I don't like Dr. Jerce." "Why not? Everyone does." "Clarice, how can you ask me that when you know that he had the cheek to propose to you? I don't like Jerce. Oh, he's clever enough, and very philanthropic, and all that. All the same, it was impertinent of an old man to propose to you." "A famous man," teased Clarice; "remember he is now Sir Daniel Jerce, and more famous than ever. You need not be jealous of him, Anthony. He has never come here since the day he proposed, and I refused." "Well, I hope we'll never set eyes on him again." "I hope Jane won't," laughed the girl, "she will certainly bite him if she does." "H'm!" said Ackworth, examining the dog's strong white teeth; "I can't say I'd like to get a bite from these jaws. But anyone could run away, seeing that Jane is lame." "I think Jane is obstinate enough to follow until she can get her bite," said Clarice, dryly. "I never knew so dogged a dog. There's a pun for you, Anthony. Why don't you laugh?"