He did not go to the Merriams. Gerard’s arrival in town was the occasion of a peremptory command to dinner from Irene. He declined, alleging press of work. Gerard, sent by Irene for tidings of the absentee, burst in upon him at ten o’clock that night and found him sitting with dishevelled hair on the edge of a tumultuous sea of brief papers. The genuineness of his excuse was obvious. He forced, however, his visitor into a chair, handed the tobacco jar and poured out whiskeys and sodas. Gerard eyed the quantum of spirits in Hugh’s glass; also noticed the corkscrew in the cork of the three parts emptied whiskey bottle. “I say, you’re going it pretty strong, aren’t you?” he remarked, with a significant nod. “What is the matter--work--worry?” “Both,” said Hugh, putting down his tumbler and sweeping his moist moustache in his fierce way. “The work to get over the worry, and the whiskey to get over the work.” “What’s the worry--this Hart affair?” “I suppose so. It has got on my nerves.” “I can’t see why the devil it should,” said Gerard, with a little contemptuous laugh. He was of that kind of men who deny the existence of nerves. “By the way,” he added, after awhile, “they were damned slack at that inquest--I was just saying so to Renie--with the safe open and ledgers and things lying about the table when the old man was found, had I been the coroner, I should have wanted to know the subject of your last conversation with the deceased.” To his surprise, Hugh sprang to his feet in a great excitement. “For heaven’s sake, old man, don’t talk about it in that cold-blooded way. I am in a devil of a mess. I don’t mind telling you now--but keep it dark from Renie--I owed Hart £5,000 on my expectations from the Brantfield property. He’s had the bond--of course. I believe it was in that stolen deed-box--I was the last person in the house--no one saw me leave. Has Renie told you her theory of the murder?” Gerard looked at him and whistled. “That’s how you staved off the bankruptcy, was it? I often wondered.” “Yes, that was how,” said Hugh, laconically. Gerard reflected, pulling at his pipe. “I don’t see anything to be nervous about. Unless you’re keeping something back from me--human nature asserting itself--are you?” “I tell you I’m in a devil of a mess,” said Hugh. “I didn’t mean to say anything about it. But I’ve told you so much. If you could help me, I would let you. The best thing is to go home to Renie--not just yet--and forget everything about it.” Gerard drew his eyelids together and peered at his friend, then rose and walked straight up to him. “Do you mean to hint that you accidentally killed that old man?” Hugh looked at him incredulously for a moment and then broke into a derisive laugh. “You fool!” he said. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” laughed Gerard, returning to his whiskey and soda. Hugh seated himself again in his swivel-working library chair, and ran his fingers through his wavy hair impatiently.