“Yes; what he said was quite true,” replied Westwood. “I can't for the life of me recollect who recommended him to the bank, but I'm nearly sure that he opened an account with us. I felt that his arriving here to-night was a sort of last straw so far as I am concerned. Good heavens! haven't I gone through enough to-day to last me for some time, without being badgered by a fellow like that--a fellow whose ideas of diplomacy are shown by his calling one a swindler--a cheat! That was the best way he could set about coaxing a man like me to do him a favour.” “Is he a dangerous man, do you think? There was a look in his eye that I did not like,” said Cyril. “A man is not dangerous because of a look in his eye, but rather because of a revolver in his hand; and you saw that that poor fool was more afraid of it than I was,” said Westwood. “Oh, he's a poor sort of fellow after all. No man shows up worse than one who tries to be threatening in a heroic way. He sinks into the mountebank in a moment. He'll be all right in the morning when he handles his money--assuming that he will draw out his balance, which is doubtful. Most likely he will have recovered from his panic, and will apologize. Take another cigar, and don't spoil this one by letting it go out.” Cyril helped himself from the box, and immediately afterwards the footman entered with a tray with decanters. Cyril took a whisky and Apollinaris, and Dick helped himself to brandy. “The first spirituous thing I have handled to-day,” he said with a laugh. “And yet before I left the bank I could hear my clerks inquiring anxiously for brandy.” “What nerves you have!” said Cyril. “I suppose they run in your family. Poor Claude must have had something good in that line.” “Yes,” said Dick, “he has good nerves.” Cyril noticed that he declined to accept the past tense in regard to Claude. “Do you mind testing mine by playing a game of billiards?” asked the younger man. “I should like a game above all things--but only one. I must be early at the bank in the morning, if only to receive our friend Standish's apology. Come along.” They went off together to the billiard-room, which was built out at the back of the dining-room; and they had their game, Finishing with the scores so close together that Westwood, who, when Cyril was ninety-seven and he only eighty, ran out with a break of twenty, declared that he had felt more excited by the game than he had at any time of the day--and he confessed that he had found it a rather exciting day on the whole.