hted to hear she's done so well at Southend, and I hope
to see her some day; but not just now. By the bye, I'm not going out
this morning, so don't wait, when you've finished."

By force of habit he ate and drank. Sherwood's letter lay open before
him; he read it through again and again. But he could not fix his
thoughts upon it. He found himself occupied with the story of Boxon,
wondering whether Boxon would live or die. Boxon, the grocer--why, what
an ass a man must be, a man with a good grocery business, to come to
grief over drink and betting! Shopkeeping--what a sound and safe life
it was; independent, as far as any money-earning life can be so. There
must be a pleasure in counting the contents of one's till every night.
Boxon! Of course, a mere brute. There came into Will's memory the
picture of Boxon landed on the pavement one night, by Allchin's fist or
toe--and of a sudden he laughed. When he had half-smoked his pipe,
comparative calmness fell upon him. Sherwood spoke of at once raising
the money he owed, and, if he succeeded in doing so, much of the
mischief would be undone. The four thousand pounds might be safely
invested somewhere, and life at The Haws would go on as usual. But was
it certain that Sherwood could "raise" such sums, being himself, as he
declared, penniless? This disclosure showed him in an unpleasantly new
light, as anything but the cautious man of business, the loyal friend,
he had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a money-market gambler?
Why, there was no difference to speak of between him and Boxon. And if
his promise proved futile--what was to be done?

For a couple of hours, Will stared at this question. When the clock on
his mantelpiece struck eleven, he happened to notice it, and was
surprised to find how quickly time had passed. By the bye, he had never
thought of looking at his newspaper, though Sherwood referred him to
that source of information on the subject of Biggles, Thorpe and
Biggles. Yes, here it was. A firm of brokers; unfortunate speculations;
failure of another house--all the old story. As likely as not, the
financial trick of a cluster of thieves. Will threw the paper aside. He
had always scorned that cunning of the Stock Exchange, now he thought
of it with fiery hatred.

Another hour passed in feverish waiting; then, just at mid-day, a knock
sounded at the outer door. Anything but a loud knock; anything but the
confident summons of a friend. Will went to open. Ther