Then Mr. Emblem began to stammer.

“’In one small thing we deceived you, Alice and I. My name is not Aglen’—­is not Aglen—­”

And here a strange thing happened.  His memory failed him at this point.

“Take time,” said Arnold; “there is no hurry.”

Mr. Emblem shook his head.

“I shall remember the rest to-morrow, perhaps,” he said.

“Is there anything else you have to help us?” asked Arnold:  “never mind the letter, Mr. Emblem.  No doubt that will come back presently.  You see we want to find out, first, who Iris’s father really was, and what is her real name.  There was his coat-of-arms.  That will connect her with some family, though it may be a family with many branches.”

“Yes—­oh yes! his coat-of-arms.  I have seen his signet-ring a dozen times.  Yes, his coat; yes, first and fourth, two roses and a boar’s head erect; second and third—­I forget.”

“Humph!  Was there any one who knew him before he was married?”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Emblem sat up eagerly.  “Yes, there is—­there is; he is my oldest customer.  But I forget his name, I have forgotten everything.  Perhaps I shall get back my memory to-morrow.  But I am old.  Perhaps it will never get back.”

He leaned his head upon his hands, and stared about him with bewildered eyes.

“I do not know, young man,” he said presently, addressing Arnold, “who you are.  If you come from Mr. Chalker, let me tell you it is a day too soon.  To-morrow we will speak of business.”  Then he sprung to his feet suddenly, struck with a thought which pierced him like a dagger.  “To-morrow!  It is the day when they will come to sell me up.  Oh, Iris! what did that matter when you were safe?  Now we are all paupers together—­all paupers.”

He fell back in his chair white and trembling.  Iris soothed him; kissed his cheek and pressed his hand; but the terror and despair of bankruptcy were upon him.  This is an awful specter, which is ever ready to appear before the man who has embarked his all in one venture.  A disastrous season, two or three unlucky ventures, a succession of bad debts, and the grisly specter stands before them.  He had no terror for the old man so long as he thought that Iris was safe.  But now—­

“Idle talk, Iris—­idle talk, child,” he said, when they tried to comfort him.  “How can a girl make money by teaching?  Idle talk, young man.  How can money be made by painting?  It’s as bad a trade as writing.  How can money be made anyhow but in an honest shop?  And to-morrow I shall have no shop, and we shall all go into the street together!”

Presently, when lamentations had yielded to despair, they persuaded him to go to bed.  It was past midnight.  Iris went upstairs with him, while Lala Roy and Arnold waited down below.  And then Arnold made a great discovery.  He began to examine the folded papers which were in the packet.  I think he had some kind of vague idea that they might contain secret and invisible writing.  They were all sheets of note-paper, of the same size, folded in the same way—­namely, doubled as if for a square envelope.  On holding one to the light, he read the water-mark: