As Will watched the little slip of paper disappear into his friend's
pocket-book, he had an unaccountable feeling of disquiet. Nothing
could be more unworthy than distrust of Godfrey Sherwood; nothing
less consonant with all his experience of the man; and, had the
money been his, he would have handed it over as confidently as when,
in fact, dealing with his own capital the other day. But the sense
of responsibility to others was a new thing to which he could not
yet accustom himself. It occurred to him for the first time that
there was no necessity for accumulating these funds in the hands of
Sherwood; he might just as well have retained his own money and this
cheque until the day of the signing of the new deed. To be sure, he
had only to reflect a moment to see the foolishness of his
misgiving; yet, had he thought of it before--

He, too, was perhaps a little overstrung in the nerves. Not for the
first time, he mentally threw a malediction at business, and all its
sordid appurtenances.

A change came over Sherwood. His smile grew more natural; his eye
lost its fixity; he puffed at his cigar with enjoyment.

"What news of Franks?" were his next words.

"Nothing very good," answered Will, frowning. "He seems to be still
playing the fool. I've seen him only once in the last fortnight, and
then it was evident he'd been drinking. I couldn't help saying a
plain word or two, and he turned sullen. I called at his place last
night, but he wasn't there; his landlady tells me he's been out of
town several times lately, and he's done no work."