He had tea and walked back again to the shop, w ere as he girt himself with his apron, he chuckled contentedly.

“Has Mrs. Cross looked in?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir,” answered his henchman, “she was here day before yes’day, and asked where you was.  I said you was travelling for your health in foreign parts.”

“And what did she say to that?”

“She said ’Oh’—­that’s all, sir.  It was a very small order she gave.  I can’t make out how she manages to use so little sugar in her ’ouse.  It’s certain the servant doesn’t have her tea too sweet—­ what do you think, sir?”

Warburton spoke of something else.

At nine o’clock he sat at home awaiting his visitor.  The expected knock soon sounded and Sherwood was shown into the room.  Will grasped his hand, calling out:  “What news?

“News?” echoed Godfrey, in a voice of no good omen.  “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“But your telegram—?  Wasn’t that what it meant?”

“What do you mean?” cried Will.  “Speak, man!  I’ve been abroad for a week.  I know nothing; I telegraphed because I wanted to see you, that was all.”

“Confound it!  I hoped you knew the worst.  Strangwyn is dead.”

“He’s dead?  Well, isn’t that what we’ve been waiting for?”

“Not the old man,” groaned Sherwood, “not the old man.  It’s Ted Strangwyn that’s dead.  Never was such an extraordinary case of bad luck.  And his death—­the most astounding you ever heard of.  He was down in Yorkshire for the grouse.  The dogcart came round in the morning, and as he stood beside it, stowing away a gun or something, the horse made a movement forward, and the wheel went over his toe.  He thought nothing of it.  The next day he was ill; it turned to tetanus; and in a few hours he died.  Did you ever in your life hear anything like that?”

Warburton had listened gravely.  Towards the end, his features began to twitch, and, a moment after Godfrey had ceased, a spasm of laughter overcame him.

“I can’t help it, Sherwood,” he gasped.  “It’s brutal, I know, but I can’t help it.”

“My dear boy,” exclaimed the other, with a countenance of relief, “I’m delighted you can laugh.  Talk about the irony of fate—­eh?  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the paragraph in the paper yesterday.  But, you know,” he added earnestly, “I don’t absolutely give up hope.  According to the latest news, it almost looks as if old Strangwyn might recover; and, if he does, I shall certainly try to get this money out of him.  If he has any sense of honour—­”

Will again laughed, but not so spontaneously.

“My boy,” he said, “it’s all up, and you know it.  You’ll never see a penny of your ten thousand pounds.”

“Oh, but I can’t help hoping—­”

“Hope as much as you like.  How goes the other affair?”