“For heaven’s sake let us talk of something else,” he said. “What have you been doing with yourself in Edinburgh?” Gerard prolonged his visit for a quarter of an hour, and then went home, leaving Hugh to his blackmailer’s interests. “You are back early,” said Irene. “Yes. He is in the midst of his briefs. He is a lucky beggar. I wish I had half as many as he.” “Why, you inconsequent dear,” said Irene. “Only the other day you were saying you were tired of practice--wanted to give it up and travel. Surely ‘_semper mutabile_’ ought to refer to men----” “Well, why shouldn’t a man get sick of work?” Irene could find no reply, but laid her hand in his. Whatever Gerard said was right. “How is poor Hugh?” she asked. Gerard laughed with masculine ungraciousness and withdrew his fingers from her clasp, so as to press down the tobacco in his pipe. “You always talk of Hugh as if he were a lad instead of a middle-aged man. He’s all right. But he has some silly idea that he’s in danger of arrest over this Hart affair.” “No!” cried Irene, quickly, looking at him with sudden scare in her eyes. “It seems he was mixed up in money matters with Israel, and he was the last person with the old man.” “That is wrong. Hugh left at 11.30, and the butler saw Mr. Hart at twelve.” “I don’t know,” said Gerard. “It is all rubbish. There’s something behind it that he wouldn’t tell me. I know nothing of Hugh’s private life. If he’s in a mess, he’ll get out of it this time as he has done before.” But Irene did not treat the matter so lightly. The face that met Gerard’s somewhat shifty blue eyes was anxious and troubled. Suddenly, however, came the illumination of her smile. “Of course you are right, dear love. It is all rubbish.” But far from rubbish proved Hugh’s forebodings when he came home from chambers the following afternoon. Parsons, the hall porter, desired to speak to him, accompanied him up the stairs to his flat. He was an honest fellow, grateful to Hugh for countless careless generosities, and at the same time regarding him with respectful awe on account of his somewhat imperious manner. The seriousness of the communication he was about to make agitated him. With many hesitations he stumbled through his story. The police had been making enquiries, had learned the hour of his return on Tuesday morning, had cross-questioned Mrs. Parsons as to the condition of his clothes, as to his general habits; had enquired whether he was carrying a box or parcel. “I was obliged to tell them that you were, sir,” said the porter, greatly distressed. “Though I would sooner cut my tongue out than do you any harm, sir.” “Thank you, Parsons,” said Hugh. “I am greatly obliged to you for telling me. I need not say that you can give the police any information concerning me with a clear conscience. You can’t possibly do me any harm.”