that exactly that I mind. It's--it's the
disgusting shabbiness of it. We Wyndhams are such a rotten lot, we don't
see that part of the business till afterwards."

"Hadn't you better come to the point?" suggested Mordaunt. "We can talk
about that later."

"No, we can't," said Rupert, with conviction. "You'll either throw me out
of the window or kick me downstairs directly you know the truth."

"I'm not in the habit of doing these things," Mordaunt remarked, with the
ghost of a smile.

"But this is an exceptional case." Rupert straightened himself abruptly,
and turned in his chair, meeting the quiet eyes. "Damn it, I'll tell
you!" he said, springing to his feet with sudden resolution. "Trevor,
I--I'm an infernal blackguard! I forged that cheque!"

"You!" Sternly Mordaunt uttered the word. He moved a step forward and
looked Rupert closely in the face. "Are you telling me the truth?" he
said.

"I am." Rupert faced him squarely, though his eyelids quivered a little.
"I'm not likely to lie to you in this matter. I've nothing to gain and
all to lose. And I shouldn't have told you--anyway now--if Noel hadn't
come over this morning with the news that you had kicked out your
secretary for the offence I had committed. Even I couldn't stick that, so
I've come to own up--and take the consequences."

He braced himself, almost as if he expected a blow. But Mordaunt remained
motionless, studying him keenly, and for many seconds he did not utter a
word.

At last, "Bertrand knew of this," he said, in a tone that held more of
conviction than interrogation.

"No, he didn't. He knew nothing, or, if he did, it was sheer guess-work.
I never suspected that he knew." Rupert's hands were clenched. He was
face to face with the hardest task he had ever undertaken.

"He knew, for all that." Mordaunt's brows contracted; he seemed to be
following out a difficult problem.

Finally, to Rupert's relief, he turned aside. "Go on," he said. "I'll
hear the whole of it now. What did you do with the money?"

Rupert's teeth closed upon his lower lip. "That's the only question I
can't answer."

"Why not?" The question was curt, and held no compromise.

"Private reasons," Rupert muttered.

"Family reasons would be more accurate," Mordaunt rejoined, in the same
curt tone. "You gave it to--Chris."

The momentary hesitation before the name did not soften its utterance. It
came with a precision almost brutal.

Rupert made a slight movement, an