"No," said Clarke earnestly, "nothing of the sort; the man has made a revelation, but not of the kind you imagine--a thousand times more serious. There's never been much love lost between you and me, Lloyd, and you may wonder why I'm here to counsel and help you; so understand at once, it's for Ticehurst's sake; you're so mixed up with him that any public _exposé_ would be the deuce and all for him." "What do you mean by public _exposé_, Mr. Clarke? what do you--" "Stop; don't bounce--it won't do. Do you remember when we dined at Richmond six weeks ago, you answered me very sharply because I asked why you never went to Brighton now? I've always had my own opinion on that matter; but I don't chatter, and I kept it to myself. This man Walker stopped Ticehurst and me as we were coming from the course, and begged so earnestly for an interview that Ticehurst listened to him. I need not go into all he said; it appears he had his suspicions too, and determined to trade on them; went the next year to your old lodgings, pumped the landlady; saw the doctor who attended Harvey Gore; has been working it since he left England through friends; and has made up a case which, if not positive, is at all events infernally suspicious." "What--what did Etchingham say about it?" asked Lloyd. "I never saw a fellow so completely knocked over in all my life. You know he is not strong-minded, and he--well, he funks death, and that kind of thing, and--" "Does he believe it? what does he say about me?" "He does believe it fully, and he says he will never set eyes on you again. I see--your eyes are blazing--you see there's nothing proved, and your place is too good a one to give up on mere suspicion? You'll say you'll have the matter sifted, and all that. Don't; take my advice--given as a lawyer who sees queer things in his practice--drop it, clear out of this at once, get over to England, make up Ticehurst's accounts, and then get away to Australia, America--anywhere!" "Thank you; and leave my 'place,' as you call it, to you, eh?" It was the last remaining touch of bravado in his voice, bravado belied by the ashy paleness of his face, and the set rigidity of his mouth. "To me! I'm a lawyer, not a turfite. Pshaw! don't try to humbug any longer--you're too clever a man. You can post over to Carlsruhe to-night, and get straight through to-morrow. I'll come with you to the hotel; I promised Ticehurst I'd see you off. Come." Gilbert Lloyd saw that there was no use in fighting the question any longer. He felt as though his career was at its close, as though he should drop as rapidly as he had risen. He turned on his heel and walked towards the hotel, Dolly Clarke walking by his side. It was all over, then? The position he had gained for himself amid the envy and hatred of all his compeers was shattered at its base, and--