the opposite direction.

"Hullo, Bertie," Nevill said carelessly, as he shook hands. "I was on my
way to the club."

"I got tired of waiting. You are half an hour over the time, Vic. I
thought of going to your rooms."

"I slept later than I intended," Nevill replied. "I had a night of it."

"So had I--a night of sleeplessness."

The Honorable Bertie Raven, second son of the Earl of Runnymede, might
have stepped out of one of Poole's fashion-plates, so far as dress was
concerned. But there was a strained look on his handsome, patrician
face, and in his blue eyes, that told of a gnawing mental anxiety. He
linked arms with his companion, and drew him to the edge of the
pavement.

"Is it all right?" he asked, pleadingly and hurriedly. "Were you able to
fix the thing up for me?"

"You are sure there is no other way, Bertie?"

"None, Vic. I have until this evening, and then--"

"Don't worry. I saw Benjamin and Company yesterday."

"And they will accommodate me?"