ngerous business.

Yet all day he was aware of a sense of vague uneasiness, which sharpened
into dismay when, late in the afternoon, he was informed that three
gentlemen had called and were waiting for him in the surgery.
A coroner's inquest, a descent of detectives, an invasion of angry
relatives--all sorts of possibilities rose to scare him. With tense
nerves and a rigid face he went to meet his visitors.

They were a very singular trio. Each was known to him by sight; but
what on earth the three could be doing together, and, above all, what
they could expect from _him_, was a most inexplicable problem.
The first was Sorley Wilson, the son of the owner of the Nonpareil
Coalpit. He was a young blood of twenty, heir to a fortune, a keen
sportsman, and down for the Easter Vacation from Magdalene College.
He sat now upon the edge of the surgery table, looking in thoughtful
silence at Montgomery and twisting the ends of his small, black, waxed
moustache. The second was Purvis, the publican, owner of the chief
beer-shop, and well known as the local bookmaker. He was a coarse,
clean-shaven man, whose fiery face made a singular contrast with his
ivory-white bald head. He had shrewd, light-blue eyes with foxy lashes,
and he also leaned forward in silence from his chair, a fat, red hand
upon either knee, and stared critically at the young assistant. So did
the third visitor, Fawcett, the horse-breaker, who leaned back, his
long, thin legs, with their boxcloth riding-gaiters, thrust out in front
of him, tapping his protruding teeth with his riding-whip, with anxious
thought in every line of his rugged, bony face. Publican, exquisite,
and horse-breaker were all three equally silent, equally earnest, and
equally critical. Montgomery seated in the midst of them, looked from
one to the other.

"Well, gentlemen?" he observed, but no answer came.

The position was embarrassing.

"No," said the horse-breaker, at last. "No. It's off. It's nowt."

"Stand oop, lad; let's see thee standin'." It was the publican who
spoke. Montgomery obeyed. He would learn all about it, no doubt, if he
were patient. He stood up and turned slowly round, as if in front of
his tailor.

"It's off! It's off!" cried the horse-breaker. "Why, mon, the Master
would break him over his knee."

"Oh, that be hanged for a yarn!" said the young Cantab. "You can drop
out if you like, Fawcett, but I'll see this thing through, if I have to
do it a