not entertain this thought, so against his interest,
against the interest of his son, of every Forsyte. He strove against it;
and as his nature ever unconsciously rejected that which it could not
with safety accept, so gradually he overcame this fear. It was an
accident! It must have been!

Old Jolyon broke in on his reverie.

"Death was instantaneous. He lay all day yesterday at the hospital.
There was nothing to tell them who he was. I am going there now; you and
your son had better come too."

No one opposing this command he led the way from the room.

The day was still and clear and bright, and driving over to Park Lane
from Stanhope Gate, old Jolyon had had the carriage open. Sitting back on
the padded cushions, finishing his cigar, he had noticed with pleasure
the keen crispness of the air, the bustle of the cabs and people; the
strange, almost Parisian, alacrity that the first fine day will bring
into London streets after a spell of fog or rain. And he had felt so
happy; he had not felt like it for months. His confession to June was
off his mind; he had the prospect of his son's, above all, of his
grandchildren's company in the future--(he had appointed to meet young
Jolyon at the Hotch Potch that very manning to--discuss it again); and
there was the pleasurable excitement of a coming encounter, a coming
victory, over James and the 'man of property' in the matter of the house.

He had the carriage closed now; he had no heart to look on gaiety; nor
was it right that Forsytes should be seen driving with an Inspector of
Police.

In that carriage the Inspector spoke again of the death:

"It was not so very thick--Just there. The driver says the gentleman
must have had time to see what he was about, he seemed to walk right into
it. It appears that he was very hard up, we found several pawn tickets
at his rooms, his account at the bank is overdrawn, and there's this case
in to-day's papers;" his cold blue eyes travelled from one to another of
the three Forsytes in the carriage.

Old Jolyon watching from his corner saw his brother's face change, and
the brooding, worried, look deepen on it. At the Inspector's words,
indeed, all James' doubts and fears revived. Hard-up--pawn-tickets--an
overdrawn account! These words that had all his life been a far-off
nightmare to him, seemed to make uncannily real that suspicion of suicide
which must on no account be entertained. He sought his son's eye; but
lynx-e