At sight of that death’s-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort of pity.  He looked bad enough already—­and this news would make him look worse.  Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors.

“How are you, Sylvanus?  I’m very poorly.”  He came closer, and lowered his voice:  “Why did you get me to make that settlement?  I must have been mad.  I’ve had a man called Ventnor—­I didn’t like his manner.  He asked me if I knew a Mrs. Larne.”

“Ha!  What did you say?”

“What could I say?  I don’t know her.  But why did he ask?”

“Smells a rat.”

Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands.

“Oh!” he murmured.  “Oh! don’t say that!”

Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter.

When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire.

“Pull yourself together, Joe; they can’t touch you, and they can’t upset either the purchase or the settlement.  They can upset me, that’s all.”

Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips: 

“How you can sit there, and look the same as ever!  Are you sure they can’t touch me?”

Old Heyworth nodded grimly.

“They talk of an Act, but they haven’t passed it yet.  They might prove a breach of trust against me.  But I’ll diddle them.  Keep your pecker up, and get off abroad.”

“Yes, yes.  I must.  I’m very bad.  I was going to-morrow.  But I don’t know, I’m sure, with this hanging over me.  My son knowing her makes it worse.  He picks up with everybody.  He knows this man Ventnor too.  And I daren’t say anything to Bob.  What are you thinking of, Sylvanus?  You look very funny!”

Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma.

“I want my lunch,” he said.  “Will you stop and have some?”

Joe Pillin stammered out: 

“Lunch!  I don’t know when I shall eat again.  What are you going to do, Sylvanus?”

“Bluff the beggar out of it.”

“But suppose you can’t?”

“Buy him off.  He’s one—­of my creditors.”

Joe Pillin stared at him afresh.  “You always had such nerve,” he said yearningly.  “Do you ever wake up between two and four?  I do—­and everything’s black.”

“Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed.”

“Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate.  But I couldn’t stand it.  I’m told your doctor forbids you alcohol.”

“He does.  That’s why I drink it.”

Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said:  “This meeting—­d’you think they mean to have it?  D’you think this man really knows?  If my name gets into the newspapers—­” but encountering his old friend’s deep little eyes, he stopped.  “So you advise me to get off to-morrow, then?”

Old Heythorp nodded.

“Your lunch is served, sir.”

Joe Pillin started violently, and rose.