“Not quite accurate, Mr. de Talor. I said—I remember the words well—‘You are an able man, and understand the money market; why don’t you take advantage of these fluctuating times, and recoup yourself for all you have lost?’ The prospect of gain tempted you, Mr. de Talor, and you jumped at the idea. You asked me to introduce you to a reliable firm, and I introduced you to Messrs. Campsey and Ash, one of the best in the City.” “Confound them for a set of rogues!” answered De Talor. “Rogues! I am sorry you think so, for I have an interest in their business.” “Good heavens! what next?” groaned De Talor. “Well, notwithstanding the best efforts of Messrs. Campsey and Ash on your behalf, in pursuance of such written instructions as you from time to time communicated to them, and to which you can no doubt refer if you please, things went wrong with you, Mr. de Talor, and year by year, when your balance-sheet was sent in, you found that you had lost more than you gained. At last, one unlucky day, about three years ago, you made a plunge against the advice, you may remember, of Messrs. Campsey and Ash, and lost. It was after that, that I began to lend you money. The first loan was for fifty thousand; then came more losses, and more loans, till at length we had reached the present state of affairs.” “O Cardus, you don’t mean to sell me up, do you? What shall I do without money? And think of my daughters: ’ow will they manage without their comforts? Give me time. What makes you so rough on me?” Mr. Cardus had been walking up and down the room rapidly. At De Talor’s words he stopped, and going to a despatch-box, unlocked it, and drew from a bundle of documents a yellow piece of stamped paper. It was a cancelled bill for ten thousand pounds in the favour of Jonas de Talor, Esquire. This bill he came and held before his visitor’s eyes. “That, I believe, is your signature,” he said quietly, pointing to the receipt written across the bill. De Talor turned almost livid with fear, and his lips and hands began to tremble. “Where did you get that?” he asked. Mr. Cardus regarded him, or rather all round him, with the melancholy black eyes that never looked straight at anything, and yet saw everything, and then answered: