and, if he succeeded in doing so, much of the mischief would be
undone. The four thousand pounds might be safely invested somewhere,
and life at The Haws would go on as usual. But was it certain that
Sherwood could "raise" such sums, being himself, as he declared,
penniless? This disclosure showed him in an unpleasantly new light,
as anything but the cautious man of business, the loyal friend, he
had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a money-market gambler?
Why, there was no difference to speak of between him and Boxon. And
if his promise proved futile--what was to be done?

For a couple of hours, Will stared at this question. When the clock
on his mantelpiece struck eleven, he happened to notice it, and was
surprised to find how quickly time had passed. By the bye, he had
never thought of looking at his newspaper, though Sherwood referred
him to that source of information on the subject of Biggles, Thorpe
and Biggles. Yes, here it was. A firm of brokers; unfortunate
speculations; failure of another house--all the old story. As
likely as not, the financial trick of a cluster of thieves. Will
threw the paper aside. He had always scorned that cunning of the
Stock Exchange, now he thought of it with fiery hatred.

Another hour passed in feverish waiting; then, just at mid-day, a
knock sounded at the outer door. Anything but a loud knock; anything
but the confident summons of a friend. Will went to open. There
stood Godfrey Sherwood, shrunk together like a man suffering from
cold; he scarcely raised his eyes.

Will's purpose, on finding Sherwood at his door, was to admit him
without a word, or any form of greeting; but the sight of that
changed face and pitiful attitude overcame him; he offered a hand,