wards the end Wharton turned upon his companion sharply, and asked:

"How did you discover that I wanted money?"

Mr. Pearson lifted his eyebrows pleasantly.

"Most of the things in this world, Mr. Wharton, that one wants to know,
can be found out. Now--I have no wish to hurry you--not in the least,
but I may perhaps mention that I have an important appointment directly.
Don't you think--we might settle our business?"

Wharton was half-humorously conscious of an inward leap of fury with the
necessities which had given this man--to whom he had taken an
instantaneous dislike--the power of dealing thus summarily with the
member for West Brookshire. However, there was no help for it; he
submitted, and twenty minutes afterwards he left Lincoln's Inn carrying
documents in the breast-pocket of his coat which, when brought under his
bankers' notice, would be worth to him an immediate advance of some
eight thousand pounds. The remainder of the purchase-money for his
"shares" would be paid over to him as soon as his part of the contract
had been carried out.

He did not, however, go to his bank, but straight to the _Clarion_
office, where he had a mid-day appointment with Louis Craven.

At first sight of the tall, narrow-shouldered form and anxious face
waiting for him in his private room, Wharton felt a movement of
ill-humour.

Craven had the morning's _Clarion_ in his hand.

"This _cannot_ mean"--he said, when they had exchanged a brief
salutation--"that the paper is backing out?"

He pointed to the suspicious paragraph in Wharton's leader, his delicate
features quivering with an excitement he could ill repress.

"Well, let us sit down and discuss the thing," said Wharton, closing the
door, "that's what I wired to you for."

He offered Craven a cigarette, which was refused, took one himself, and
the two men sat confronting each other with a writing-table between
them. Wharton was disagreeably conscious at times of the stiff papers in
his coat-pocket, and was perhaps a little paler than usual. Otherwise he
showed no trace of mental disturbance; and Craven, himself jaded and
sleepless, was struck with a momentary perception of his companion's
boyish good looks--the tumbling curls, that Wharton straightened now and
then, the charming blue eyes, the athlete's frame. Any stranger would
have taken Craven for the older man; in reality it was the other way.

The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Craven exhausted both arg