“Why it’s like this!’” John Martin said, putting his arm round her and holding her close to him, as he used to do when, a little girl, she came sidling up to him for sugar-plums.  “Poor Dick’s affairs are in a terrible muddle.  Unknown to me he speculated right and left, and he has not only muddled through everything he had, but he has left a number of debts, and unfortunately I have to meet them.”

“You, Father!  But why you?” Gladys cried.

“Because they were incurred in the name of the Firm.  I can meet them all right, but it will be a big drain on my resources.  That’s worry number one.  Worry number two is about young Davenport—­Shiel.  I don’t know what to do about him.  He was entirely dependent on Dick.  His work as an artist doesn’t bring him in enough to keep him in tobacco, and the worst of it is he doesn’t seem capable of turning his hand to anything else; I can’t see him starve, so I shall have to allow him something.”

“He seemed to me very intelligent,” Gladys observed, “couldn’t you take him into the Firm?  Who are you going to have in his uncle’s place?”

“That’s the trouble!” John Martin replied.  “I do feel I want some one.  I am getting on in years, my brain is not so vigorous as it used to be, and I can’t go on inventing fresh tricks ad infinitum.  Moreover, I need assistance in the purely business side of the concern.  I want some one who is both business-like and inventive—­some one young, brilliant and reliable.”

“You couldn’t sell out I suppose?”

“No, not just at present.  Thanks to poor old Dick the Firm is in rather a precarious condition!  Another six months over, and we may be perfectly all right.  No!  I must stick on, and get another partner.  And look here, Gladys, you know I let you do pretty nearly everything you like.  But let me beg of you not to be too friendly with that young Davenport.  I caught him looking very impressibly at you this morning, and I am quite sure, if he sees anything more of you, he will be falling head over ears in love.  Which is the very last thing in the world I want!”

“That’s making me out to be very attractive, Daddy,” Gladys said, looking round at him mischievously.

“And so you are, dear!” John Martin said.  “Wonderfully attractive! and none knows it better than yourself.  But in this case you must think of consequences—­consequences that might be disastrous to us all!  Confound it all, who’s this?  What on earth does he want?”

Gladys gazed in astonishment.  A young and very smartly dressed man was advancing towards them with a soft, cat-like tread.  He was of medium height and slim build.  His head disproportionately large; his right ear standing out, in proof that it had long been used as a pen-rest; his nose pronounced and Semitic in outline; his eyes, big, projecting and yellowish brown; his chin, retreating; his complexion, dark and saturnine.

Gladys shivered.  “What a horrible person!” she whispered, “there is something positively uncanny about him.  I feel cold all over and how he stares!”