with a dipper in it on a bench. He caught up a
dipperful of water, drank it empty, and let it fall in the pail again with
a clatter.

"Dan," he said, abstractedly--"Dan, you're all safe now."

Then he seemed to wake, as from a dream, and looked at the man at the
table. Busby was leaning on it with both hands, and staring at Rawley like
some animal jaded and beaten from pursuit. Rawley walked back to the table
and laid down two thousand dollars.

"I only wanted two thousand," he said, and put the other two thousand in
his pocket.

The evil eyes gloated, the long fingers clutched the pile and swept it
into a great inside pocket. Then the shaggy head bent forward.

"You said it was for Dan," he said--"Dan Welldon?"

Rawley hesitated. "What is that to you?" he replied, at last.

With a sudden impulse the old impostor lurched round, opened a box, drew
out a roll, and threw it on the table.

"It's got to be known sometime," he said, "and you'll be my lawyer when
I'm put into the ground--you're clever. They call me a quack.
Malpractice--bah! There's my diploma--James Clifton Welldon. Right enough,
isn't it?"

Rawley was petrified. He knew the forgotten story of James Clifton
Welldon, the specialist, turned gambler, who had almost ruined his own
brother--the father of Dan and Diana--at cards and dice, and had then
ruined himself and disappeared. Here, where his brother had died, he had
come years ago and practised medicine as a quack.

"Oh, there's plenty of proof, if it's wanted!" he said. "I've got it
here." He tapped the box behind him. "Why did I do it? Because it's my
way. And you're going to marry my niece, and'll have it all some day. But
not till I've finished with it--not unless you win it from me at dice or
cards.... But no"--something human came into the old, degenerate face--"no
more gambling for the man that's to marry Diana. There's a wonder and a
beauty!" He chuckled to himself. "She'll be rich when I've done with it.
You're a lucky man--ay, you're lucky."

Rawley was about to tell the old man what the two thousand dollars was
for, but a fresh wave of repugnance passed over him, and, hastily drinking
another dipperful of water, he opened the door. He looked back. The old
man was crouching forward, lapping milk from the great bowl, his beard
dripping. In disgust he swung round again. The fresh, clear air caught his
face.

With a gasp of relief he stepped out into the night, closing the door
behind