Chase was not looking at Warrisden. He sat with his eyes half-closed, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his finger-tips joined under his chain, and his head thrown back. There was no expression upon his face but one of weariness. Would he answer? Could he answer? Warrisden was in doubt, indeed in fear. He led to his question warily. "It was you who recommended Stretton to try horse-breeding in Kentucky." "Yes," said Chase; and he added, "after he had decided of his own accord to go away." "He failed." "Yes." "And he has disappeared." Chase opened his eyes, but did not turn them to his companion. "I did not advise his disappearance," he said. "That, like his departure, was his own doing." "No doubt," Warrisden agreed. "But it is thought that you might have heard from him since his disappearance." Chase nodded his head. "I have." "It is thought that you might know where he is now." "I do," said Mr. Chase. Warrisden was sensibly relieved. One-half of his fear was taken from him. Chase knew, at all events, where Stretton was to be found. Now he must disclose his knowledge. But before he could put a question, Chase said languidly-- "You say 'it is thought,' Mr. Warrisden. By whom is it thought? By his wife?" "No. But by a great friend of hers and his." "Oh," said Chase, "by Miss Pamela Mardale, then." Warrisden started forward. "You know her?" he asked. "No. But Stretton mentioned her to me in a letter. She has sent you to me in fulfilment of a promise. I understand." The words were not very intelligible to Warrisden. He knew nothing of Pamela's promise to Tony Stretton. But, on the other hand, he saw that Mr. Chase was giving a more attentive ear to what he said. He betrayed no ignorance of the promise. "I am sent to fetch Stretton home," he said. "I want you to tell me where he is." Chase shook his head. "No," he said gently. "It is absolutely necessary that Stretton should come back," Warrisden declared with great deliberation. And with no less deliberation Chase replied-- "In Stretton's view it is absolutely necessary that he should stay away!" "His father is dying." Chase started forward in his chair, and stared at Warrisden for a long time. "Is that an excuse?" he said at length. It was, as Warrisden was aware. He did not answer the question. "It is the truth," he replied; and he replied truthfully. Chase rose from his chair and walked once or twice across the room. He came back to the fire, and leaning an elbow on the mantelpiece stared into the coals. Warrisden sat very still. He had used his one argument--he could add nothing to it; he could only wait for the answer in a great anxiety. So much hung upon that answer for Stretton and his wife, for Pamela, for himself! The fortunes of all four were knotted together. At last the answer came.