-minded ruffian who nursed a spite against him; a low fellow
who had taken advantage of his good nature, and who--in short, a man
from whom it was impossible to escape, for several good reasons, until
they had spent some hours together. He got off a telegram to Lord
Polperro, and could do no more till nearly eleven o'clock at night.
Arriving headlong at Lowndes Mansions, he learnt with disgust what had
gone on there in his absence. And now, what defence had Gammon to
offer? What was his game?

"I guess pretty well what yours is, my boy," answered the listener.
"And I'm not sorry I've spoilt it."

Thereupon he related the singular train of events between breakfast
time this (or rather yesterday) morning and the ringing out of the old
year. When it came to a description of Lord Polperro's accident
Greenacre lost all control of himself.

"Ass! blockhead! You know no better than to let such a man in his state
of health get mixed up in a crowd of roughs at midnight? Good God! He
may die!"

"I shouldn't wonder a bit," returned Gammon coolly. "If he does it may
be awkward for you, eh?"

From his story he had omitted one detail, thinking it better to keep
silence about the burning of the will until he learnt more than
Greenacre had as yet avowed to him.

"Fool!" blustered the other. "Idiot!"

"You'd better stop that, Greenacre, or I shan't be the only man with a
black eye. Do you want to be kicked downstairs? or would you prefer to
drop out of the window? Keep a civil tongue in your head."

At this moment both were startled into silence by a violent thumping at
the wall.

It came from the room which used to be occupied by Polly Sparkes, and
was accompanied by angry verbal remonstrance from a lodger disturbed in
his slumbers.

"Didn't I tell you?" muttered Gammon. "You'd better get home and go to
bed; the walk will cool you down. It's all up with your little game for
the present. Look here," he added in a friendly whisper, "you may as
well tell me. Has he another wife?"

"Find out," was Greenacre's surly answer; "and go to the devil!"

A rush, a scuffling, a crash somewhere which shook the house. The
disturbed lodger flung open his door and shouted objurgations. From
below sounded the shrill alarm of Mrs. Bubb, from elsewhere the anxious
outcries of Mrs. Cheeseman and her husband.

Amid all this Greenacre and his quondam friend somehow reached the foot
of the stairs, where the darkness that enveloped their strug