tempt to do so would be to beat against a stone wall--a struggle in
which he might possibly hurt himself, but which would make no difference
whatever to the wall.

Reluctantly he abandoned the argument, and prepared to take his
departure.

But later, as he drove home, the man's words recurred to him and dwelt
long in his memory. Their bitterness seemed to cloak something upon
which no eye had ever looked--a regret unspeakable, a passionate
repentance that found no place.

IX

"I have just discovered of whom it is that your very unpleasant agent
reminds me," observed Lady Cottesbrook at the breakfast-table on the
following morning. "It flashed upon me suddenly. He is the very image of
that nasty person, Nat Verney, who swindled such a crowd of people a few
years ago. I was present at part of his trial, and a more callous,
thoroughly insolent creature I never saw. I suppose he is still in
prison. I forget exactly what the sentence was, but I know it was a long
one. I should think this man must be his twin-brother, Jack. I never saw
a more remarkable likeness."

Babbacombe barely glanced up from his letter. "You are always finding
that the people you don't like resemble criminals, Ursula," he said,
with something less than his usual courtesy. "Did you say you were
leaving by the eleven-fifty? I think I shall come with you."

"My dear Jack, how you change! I thought you were going to stay down
here for another week."

"I was," he answered. "But I have had a line from Cynthia to tell me
that her hand is poisoned from that infernal trap. It may be very
serious. It probably is, or she would not have written."

That note of Cynthia's had in fact roused his deepest anxiety. He had
fancied all along that she had deliberately made light of the injury.
Soon after three o'clock he was in town, and he hastened forthwith to
Cynthia's flat in Mayfair.

He found her on a couch in her dainty boudoir, lying alone before the
fire. Her eyes shone like stars in her white face as she greeted him.

"It was just dear of you to come so soon," she said. "I kind of thought
you would. I'm having a really bad time for once, and I thought you'd
like to know."

"Tell me about it," he said, sitting down beside her.

Her left hand lay in his for a few moments, but after a little she
softly drew it away. Her right was in a sling.

"There's hardly anything to tell," she said. "Only my arm is bad right
up to the shoulder, and the d