On the day after Gerald’s return Osborn shut himself up in his library.  If he could raise two thousand pounds, it would save him from agreeing to the demand Thorn would, no doubt, make, and although he really knew the thing was impossible, he sought desperately for a way of escape.  He was careless about money, and, for the most part, left his business to his agent, but he wanted to find out how he stood before he went to Hayes.  There was no obvious reason for his doing so, but he had begun to suspect that Hayes was not as devoted to his interests as he had thought.  His wife and Grace distrusted the fellow, and although they knew nothing about business, Osborn admitted that the advice they had sometimes given him had been sound.

The involved calculations he made gave him fresh ground for disturbance.  It was plain that he could borrow no more money and the sum he had received for the last mortgage had nearly gone.  He might perhaps get together three or four hundred pounds, at the risk of letting builders and drainers go unpaid, but this was not enough.  After a time, he put away his books in a fit of hopeless anger and drove across to see Hayes at the market town.

The interview was short and disappointing.  Osborn could not tell Hayes why he needed money and found him unusually firm.  He proved that the estate was heavily overburdened, fresh loans were impossible, and stern economy must be used if it was to be saved from bankruptcy.  To some extent, Osborn had expected this, but had cherished a faint hope that Hayes might lend him enough to satisfy Gerald’s creditor.  He could not force himself to ask for a loan outright, and Hayes had been strangely dull about his cautious hints.  Osborn believed the fellow could have helped him, but as he had shown no wish to do so there was nothing to be said.  He drove home in a downcast mood and sent for Gerald.

“I can’t get the money,” he said.  “You know the man you dealt with.  Is there any hope of his renewing the bill?”

“I’m afraid there is none, sir,” Gerald replied.

“When he made the loan he knew you were a bank-clerk and had no money.”

“I expect he did know, but thought you had some.”

Osborn sighed.  His anger had gone and a dull, hopeless dejection had taken its place.  He felt as if he and Gerald were accomplices in a plot against Grace, and did not resent the lad’s insinuation that they stood together.  The Osborns did stand together, and he hoped Grace would see her duty.

“Well,” he said, “the payment is not due just yet.  I’ll wait a little and then write to the fellow.”

It was a relief to put the thing off, but he found no comfort as the days went by, and although he shrank from taking Mrs. Osborn into his confidence, his moody humor gave her a hint.  Besides, he was not clever at keeping a secret and now and then made illuminating remarks.  Mrs. Osborn, although reserved, was shrewd and she and Grace, without consulting each other, speculated about the trouble that obviously threatened the house.  By degrees, their conjectures got near the truth and at length Mrs. Osborn nerved herself to ask her husband a few blunt questions.  He had not meant to tell her all until he was forced, but was taken off his guard and told her much.  Afterwards she sent for Grace.