fused to linger, and went out again after a few commonplaces,
feeling as if he had been struck a stunning blow between the eyes.

Driving swiftly back through the park, he recovered somewhat from the
shock. There must be--surely there would be!--some explanation.

Reaching West's abode he stopped the motor and descended. West was not
in and he decided to wait for him, chafing at the delay.

Standing at the window, he presently saw the man coming up the path. He
moved slowly, with a certain heaviness, as though weary.

As he opened the outer door, Babbacombe opened the inner and met him in
the hall.

"I dropped in to have a word with you," he said.

West paused momentarily before shutting the door. His face was in
shadow.

"I thought so," he said. "I saw the motor."

Babbacombe turned back into the room. He was grappling with the hardest
task he had ever had to tackle. West followed him in absolute silence.

With an immense effort, Babbacombe spoke:

"I was at the bank just now. I went to get some cash. I was told that my
account was overdrawn. I can't understand it. There seems to have been
some mistake."

He paused, but West said nothing whatever. The light was beginning to
fail, but his expressionless face was clearly visible. It held neither
curiosity nor dismay.

"I was told," Babbacombe said again, "that you cashed a cheque of mine
yesterday for two hundred and fifty pounds. Is that so?"

"It is," said West curtly.

"And yet," Babbacombe proceeded, "I understood from you that the
Millsand estate business was settled long ago."

"It was," said West.

"Then this cheque--this cheque for two hundred and fifty pounds--where
did it come from, West?" There was a note of entreaty in Babbacombe's
voice.

West jerked up his head at the sound. It was a gesture openly
contemptuous. "Can't you guess?" he said.

Babbacombe stiffened at the callous question. "You refuse to answer me?"
he asked.

"That is my answer," said West.

"I am to understand then that you have robbed me--that you have forged
my signature to do so--that you--great heavens, man"--Babbacombe's
amazement burst forth irresistibly--"it's incredible! Are you mad, I
wonder? You can't have done it in your sober senses. You would never
have been so outrageously clumsy."

West shrugged his shoulders.

"I am quite sane--only a little out of practice."

His words were like a shower of icy water. Babbacombe contracted
instantly.

"You wis