George was some little time before he could understand as much as was vouchsafed him of the explanation. They stood in the shadow of the archway, Charlotte keeping her black shawl well over her head and round her face; Rodolf, his arms folded, leaning against the inner circle of the stonework. "_What_, do you say? sent you abroad?" questioned George, somewhat bewildered. "It was that wretched business of Appleby's," replied Rodolf Pain. "You must have heard of it. The world heard enough of it." "Appleby--Appleby? Yes, I remember," remarked George. "A nice swindle it was. But what had you to do with it?" "In point of fact, I only had to do with it at second-hand," said Rodolf Pain, his tone one of bitter meaning. "It was Verrall's affair--as everything else is. I only executed his orders." "But surely neither you nor Verrall had anything to do with that swindling business of Appleby's?" cried George, his voice as full of amazement as the other's was of bitterness. Charlotte interposed, her manner so eager, so flurried, as to impart the suspicion that she must have some personal interest in it. "Rodolf, hold your tongue! Where's the use of bringing up this old speculative nonsense to Mr. George Godolphin? He does not care to hear about it." "I would bring it up to all the world if I could," was Rodolf's answer, ringing with its own sense of injury. "Verrall told me in the most solemn manner that if things ever cleared, through Appleby's death, or in any other way, so as to make it safe for me to return, that that hour he would send for me. Well: Appleby has been dead these six months; and yet he leaves me on, on, on, in the New World, without so much as a notice of it. Now, it's of no use growing fierce again, Charlotte! I'll tell Mr. George Godolphin if I please. I am not the patient slave you helped to drive abroad: the trodden worm turns at last. Do you happen to know, sir, that Appleby's dead?" "I don't know anything about Appleby," replied George. "I remember the name, as being owned by a gentleman who was subjected to some bad treatment in the shape of swindling, by one Rustin. But what had you or Verrall to do with it?" "Psha!" said Rodolf Pain. "Verrall was Rustin." George Godolphin opened his eyes to their utmost width. "N--o!" he said, very slowly, certain curious ideas beginning to crowd into his mind. Certain remembrances also. "He was.--Charlotte, I tell you it is of no use: I _will_ speak. What does it matter, Mr. George Godolphin's knowing it? Verrall was the real principal--Rustin, in fact; I, the ostensible one. And I had to suffer." "Did Appleby think you were Rustin?" inquired George, thoroughly bewildered.