ollowed; he made no movement
towards the gas bracket. Nothing mattered but his trouble. That must be
dealt with. At all costs, Kitely's silence must be purchased--aye, even
if it cost him and Mallalieu one-half of what they had. And, of course,
Mallalieu must be told--at once.

A tap of somebody's knuckles on the door of the private room roused him
at last, and he sprang up and seized a box of matches as he bade the
person without to enter. The clerk came in, carrying a sheaf of papers,
and Cotherstone bustled to the gas.

"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I've dropped off into a nod over this warm
fire, Stoner. What's that--letters?"

"There's all these letters to sign, Mr. Cotherstone, and these three
contracts to go through," answered the clerk. "And there are those
specifications to examine, as well."

"Mr. Mallalieu'll have to see those," said Cotherstone. He lighted the
gas above his desk, put the decanter and the glasses aside, and took the
letters. "I'll sign these, anyhow," he said, "and then you can post 'em
as you go home. The other papers'll do tomorrow morning."

The clerk stood slightly behind his master as Cotherstone signed one
letter after the other, glancing quickly through each. He was a young
man of twenty-two or three, with quick, observant manners, a keen eye,
and a not handsome face, and as he stood there the face was bent on
Cotherstone with a surmising look. Stoner had noticed his employer's
thoughtful attitude, the gloom in which Cotherstone sat, the decanter on
the table, the glass in Cotherstone's hand, and he knew that Cotherstone
was telling a fib when he said he had been asleep. He noticed, too, the
six sovereigns and the two or three silver coins lying on the desk, and
he wondered what had made his master so abstracted that he had forgotten
to pocket them. For he knew Cotherstone well, and Cotherstone was so
particular about money that he never allowed even a penny to lie out of
place.

"There!" said Cotherstone, handing back the batch of letters. "You'll be
going now, I suppose. Put those in the post. I'm not going just yet, so
I'll lock up the office. Leave the outer door open--Mr. Mallalieu's
coming back."

He pulled down the blinds of the private room when Stoner had gone, and
that done he fell to walking up and down, awaiting his partner. And
presently Mallalieu came, smoking a cigar, and evidently in as good
humour as usual.

"Oh, you're still here?" he said as he entered. "I--wha