d Godfrey, in a voice of no good omen. "Haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"But your telegram--? Wasn't that what it meant?"

"What do _you_ mean?" cried Will. "Speak, man! I've been abroad for a
week. I know nothing; I telegraphed because I wanted to see you, that
was all."

"Confound it! I hoped you knew the worst. Strangwyn is dead."

"He's dead? Well, isn't that what we've been waiting for?"

"Not the old man," groaned Sherwood, "not the old man. It's Ted
Strangwyn that's dead. Never was such an extraordinary case of bad
luck. And his death--the most astounding you ever heard of. He was down
in Yorkshire for the grouse. The dogcart came round in the morning, and
as he stood beside it, stowing away a gun or something, the horse made
a movement forward, and the wheel went over his toe. He thought nothing
of it. The next day he was ill; it turned to tetanus; and in a few
hours he died. Did you ever in your life hear anything like that?"

Warburton had listened gravely. Towards the end, his features began to
twitch, and, a moment after Godfrey had ceased, a spasm of laughter
overcame him.

"I can't help it, Sherwood," he gasped. "It's brutal, I know, but I
can't help it."

"My dear boy," exclaimed the other, with a countenance of relief, "I'm
delighted you can laugh. Talk about the irony of fate--eh? I couldn't
believe my eyes when I saw the paragraph in the paper yesterday. But,
you know," he added earnestly, "I don't absolutely give up hope.
According to the latest news, it almost looks as if old Strangwyn might
recover; and, if he does, I shall certainly try to get this money out
of him. If he has any sense of honour--"

Will again laughed, but not so spontaneously.

"My boy," he said, "it's all up, and you know it. You'll never see a
penny of your ten thousand pounds."

"Oh, but I can't help hoping--"

"Hope as much as you like. How goes the other affair?"

"Why, there, too, odd things have been happening. Milligan has just got
engaged, and, to tell you the truth, to a girl I shouldn't have thought
he'd ever have looked twice at. It's a Miss Parker, the daughter of a
City man. Pretty enough if you like, but as far as I can see, no more
brains than a teapot, and I can't for the life of me understand how a
man like Milligan--. But of course, it makes no difference; our work
goes on. We have an enormous correspondence."

"Does Miss Parker interest herself in it?" asked Will.

"Oh, yes, in a way, yo