feelingly. "What a dreadful blow for you."

"It ith unnethecessary to explain bithness details to you," the
financier proceeded. "My working capital hath gone, and the fact thimply
is that I cannot carry on--unleth----" he paused to give his words
additional emphasis, "unleth you repay me my twelve thousand poundth in
full within two months."

"Two months?" she exclaimed blankly.

"Two months," he repeatedly firmly. "That ith the utmost time I can give
you. Have you any other means of raithing the money?"

"Not a ghost of one," she replied frankly. "I might as well try to push
over the Marble Arch as raise a single thousand."

"Then," he said steadily, "if you do not marry Copplesthone I am a
bankrupt--and a bankrupt I will not be."

"I shall marry him," she said. "I told you I should--and I shall. You
will have your money."

"I believed you," he returned. "But another woman beat you."

She looked away from him.

"Did she?" she replied evenly.

There was silence for a moment.

"When Copplesthone announthed his engagement to Mith Manderthon," the
financier went on, "I stood ruined. I admit it. I stood ruined by your
defeat. That ith the thecret that you muth keep. I was sure that you had
no other means of paying me back. Nothing could save me but a
miraculouth removal of the obstacle."

"The obstacle was removed," she said, in the same even tone.

He shuddered.

"It wath. The obstacle that stood between you and Copplesthone, and me
and ruination, wath removed. It was a ghastly thing, and we are very
thorry. But let uth be candid. It wath to our advantage."

"Yes," she agreed slowly--"it was to our advantage."

"There must not be another obstacle," he said.

"There will not be another," she replied. "George Copplestone will marry
me--and you shall have your twelve thousand pounds, as I promised. You
need not be anxious."

He looked round the luxurious room, and sighed deeply. It surprised her
that she had not noticed before how much he had aged.

"I must begin again," he said. "I am getting old--but I will rebuild my
fortune. I will not be the only poor Jew in London."

"You have been a good friend to me," she said gently. "I am very sorry."

He paused to finish his drink, but his crafty eyes never left her face.
She did not meet them.

"I wonder," he said, in a slightly lower tone, replacing his empty glass
on the table, "what the police will discover."

"I should imagine that there is very l