before I met you."

So they went out together, and Dudley, as he had suggested, gave his
friend a long and extremely circumstantial account of the way in which
the wheel went over the woman, and of the difficulty he and the
policeman had experienced in getting her from between the wheels of the
van by which she had been crushed.

Max heard him in silence, but did not believe a word. Whatever had
reduced Dudley to the plight in which he had returned to his chambers,
Max was convinced that it differed in some important details from the
version of the affair which he chose to give.

"We won't talk any more about it," he went on, without seeming to remark
his friend's silence. "It's a thing I want to forget. It has quite upset
me for a time; you could see that yourself when you met me. I--I don't
know quite what to do to get the thing out of my mind. I think I shall
run down to Datton with you, and see what that will do. What do you
think?"

Now, although he had drunk more wine than usual, Dudley knew perfectly
well what he was saying, and Max stared at him in astonishment.

"What?" he exclaimed. "After what you told me? About my father?"

"Oh, yes, yes. But I can explain everything. I can, and I will,"
returned Dudley, quickly. "I have not been myself lately. I have had
certain business worries. But they are all settled now, and I feel more
like myself than I have done for weeks."