“Mr. Sutton,” he said softly, “methinks you are a little ungracious, a little precipitate: I came here to make, with the delicacy which the matter demanded, all the necessary confession of previous crimes, dodges, acts of venal artfulness, convictions, incarcerations, together with an appendix throwing light upon the facility with which a young and headstrong subaltern of cavalry might descend to the Avernus which awaits the reckless layer of odds on indifferent horses.” He said all this without taking breath, and was seemingly well satisfied with himself and the sketch he gave of his early life. He pulled himself erect, squared his shoulders and set his monocle more firmly in his eye, then with a bow to the girl, and an amused stare at the young man, he turned to the door. “One moment, Mr. Amber,” she found her voice; “I cannot allow you to go like this; we owe you something, Francis and I....” “Owe me a memory,” said Amber in a low voice, “that would be a pleasant reward, Miss Sutton.” Impulsively she stepped forward and held out her hand, and he took it. “I’m so sorry,” was all she said, but she knew by the pressure on her hand that he understood. As they stood there, for the briefest space of time, hand to hand, Sutton slipped from the room, for he had been expecting visitors, and had heard the distant thrill of a bell. Neither noticed his absence. The girl’s face was upraised to Amber’s, and in her eyes was infinite compassion. “You are too good--too good for that life,” she said, and Amber shook his head, smiling with his eyes. “You don’t know,” he said gently, “perhaps you are wasting your pity--you make me feel a scoundrel when you pity me.” Before she could reply the door was flung open, and Sutton burst into the room; behind him was Lambaire, soberly arrayed, sleek of hair and perfectly groomed, and no less decorous of appearance was the inevitable Whitey bringing up the rear. Cynthia Sutton gazed blankly at the newcomers. It was a bold move of her brother’s to bring these men to her house. Under any circumstances their reception would have been a stiff one; now, a cold anger took possession of her, for she guessed that they had been brought to complete the rout of Amber. The first words of Sutton proved this. “Cynthia,” he said, with a satisfaction which he did not attempt to conceal, “these are the gentlemen that Mr. Amber has vilified--perhaps he would care to repeat----” “Young, very young,” said Amber tolerantly. He took the management of the situation from the girl’s hands, and for the rest of the time she was only a spectator “_ne puero gladium_--eh?” He was the virtuous schoolmaster reproaching youth. “And here we have evidence,” he exhibited Lambaire and his companion with a sweep of his hand, “confronted by the men he has so deeply wronged; and now, my Lambaire, what have you to say about us that we have not already revealed?” “I know you are a thief,” said Lambaire.