"As for your money, it is all safe—or nearly
all. You have lost about sixteen thousand
pounds by the transaction—I, as many
hundreds."

"If it were not that I can scarcely conceive
of so much infamy as would be implied in the
doubt," said Saxon, "I should say that I do not
believe one word of what you tell me!"

"You will repent this," said Mr. Trefalden,
grinding the words out slowly between his teeth.
"You will repent this from your very soul!"

Saxon put his hand to his brow, and pushed
back his hair in an impatient, bewildered way.

"If I only knew what to believe!" he
exclaimed, passionately.

Mr. Trefalden looked at his watch.

"If you will have the goodness to come here
to-morrow at twelve," he said, "I will send one
of my clerks with you to the Bank of England,
to satisfy you of the safety of your money. In
the mean while, I do not see that anything is
gained by a conversation which, on one side, at
least, consists of mere vituperation. Have you
anything more to say to me?"

"Yes. Where are Mrs. and Miss Rivière?"

"Mrs. Rivière is dead. Miss Rivière has
returned to Florence."

"You told me they were at Nice."

"I believed it when I told you so, but I was
mistaken."

"One more question, if you please. What
have you done with the twenty-five thousand
pounds due to Mr. Behrens?"

The lawyer rose haughtily from his seat.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Simply this—what have you done with the
twenty-five thousand pounds placed in your
hands by Lord Castletowers two years ago, for
the payment of Mr. Behrens' claim?"

"This, I presume, is meant for another
insult?" said Mr. Trefalden. "I decline to reply
to it."

"You had better reply to it," cried the young
man, earnestly. "For your own sake, I counsel
you to reply to it. To-morrow will be too
late."

The lawyer took a card from the mantelshelf,
and flung it disdainfully upon the table.

"There is Mr. Behrens' card," he said. "Go
yourself to him to-morrow, and ask whether his
mortgage has been paid off or not,"

Saxon snatched up the card, and read—
"OLIVER BEHRENS, Woolstapler, 70, Bread-street,
E.C."

"God forgive you, if you are again deceiving
me, William!" he said.

But Mr. Trefalden only pointed to the open
door.

"Whatever more you may have to say to me,"
he replied, "I will hear to-morrow."

Saxon lingered for a moment on the threshold,
still looking earnestly, almost imploringly, in the
lawyer's face. Then, once more saying "God
forgive you, if you are deceiving me!" he turned
away, and went slowly down the stairs.

CHAPTER LXXXI. HOW MR. KECKWITCH PASSED
THE SUMMER HOURS.

RETURNING to his chambers weary and anxious,
Saxon was not particularly delighted to find his
dear friend, Mr. Laurence Greatorex, in possession
of a sofa, making himself thoroughly at home
with a newspaper, a cup of coffee, and a cigarette.
Somewhat over-demonstrative at the best of
times, the banker's greetings were more than
commonly oppressive on this occasion.

"I happened to drop into the club," he said,
"and, hearing that you had been seen there
today, I wouldn't lose an hour in coming to see
you, my dear boy—not an hour!"

And then he shook hands with Saxon for the
twentieth time, and again protested that he was
never so glad to see any one in his life—never,
by Jove!

"But you don't look much the better for your
Norwegian trip," he added.

"I suppose I am tired," replied Saxon, with a
glance at the timepiece. "I have been travelling
incessantly for some days."

"I hope you are not too tired to hear
something that I have to tell you," said the banker.

"What is it about?"

"Well, it's about your precious cousin in
Chancery-lane."

Saxon shook his head impatiently.

"Oh, Mr. Greatorex," he said, "that will wait
till to-morrow."

"I am not so sure that it will. I am not sure,
Trefalden, that you have come one day too
soon."

"If you mean that the new company is all a
bubble," said Saxon, gloomily, "I know it
already."

"You do?"

Saxon nodded.

"Lost money by it?"

"Yes; some."

"All that Mr. Trefalden undertook to invest
for you?"

"No; less than one hundredth part of it.
Only sixteen thousand pounds."

"Less than one hundredth part of it!"
repeated the banker. "By all the powers, then,
you had entrusted him with something like two
millions of money!"

"Just two millions."

"What has become of the remaining nineteen
hundred and eighty-four thousand pounds?"

"It is re-invested, I presume, in government
stock."

"You presume? What do you mean by saying
you 'presume?' Who told you so?"

"My cousin himself, not an hour ago. He
said he would send one of his clerks with me
to-morrow to the Bank of England, that I might
satisfy myself as to the safety of my money."

Mr. Greatorex got up and took three or four
turns about the room, thinking profoundly.

"Did he tell you he was going shortly out of
town?"

"No."