was soon of the opinion
that here was an ugly customer, gentleman or no gentleman. A jolting
cart was, however, not the best place for a man who seemed sore from
head to foot, and done for out and out. He sat and ground his teeth, as
he clung to the rough seat in the attempt to steady himself. He became
more and more "gashly," and a certain awful light in his eyes alarmed
the carter by leaping up at every jolt. Binns was glad when he left him
at Medham Arms, and felt he had earned the half-sovereign handed to him.

Four days Anstruthers lay in bed in a room at the Inn. No one saw him
but the man who brought him food. He did not send for a doctor, because
he did not wish to see one. He sent for such remedies as were needed by
a man who had been bruised by a fall from his horse. He made no remark
which could be considered explanatory, after he had said irritably that
a man was a fool to go loitering along on a nervous brute who needed
watching. Whatsoever happened was his own damned fault.

Through hours of day and night he lay staring at the whitewashed beams
or the blue roses on the wall paper. They were long hours, and filled
with things not pleasant enough to dwell on in detail. Physical misery
which made a man writhe at times was not the worst part of them. There
were a thousand things less endurable. More than once he foamed at the
mouth, and recognised that he gibbered like a madman.

There was but one memory which saved him from feeling that this was the
very end of things. That was the memory of Broadmorlands. While a man
had a weapon left, even though it could not save him, he might pay up
with it--get almost even. The whole Vanderpoel lot could be plunged neck
deep in a morass which would leave mud enough sticking to them, even
if their money helped them to prevent its entirely closing over their
heads. He could attend to that, and, after he had set it well going, he
could get out. There were India, South Africa, Australia--a dozen places
that would do. And then he would remember Betty Vanderpoel, and curse
horribly under the bed clothes. It was the memory of Betty which outdid
all others in its power to torment.

On the morning of the fifth day the Duke of Broadmorlands received a
note, which he read with somewhat annoyed curiosity. A certain Sir Nigel
Anstruthers, whom it appeared he ought to be able to recall, was in the
neighbourhood, and wished to see him on a parochial matter of interest.
"Parochial ma