“Yes, but look here.”  Warburton stood before him, hands on hips, regarding him gravely, and speaking with decision.  “I don’t quite understand you.  You’re not like yourself.  Is there anything you’re keeping from me?”

“Nothing—­nothing whatever, I assure you, Warburton.”

But Will was only half satisfied.

“You have no doubts of Applegarth?”

“Doubts!” cried the other.  “Not a shadow of doubt of any sort, I declare and protest.  No, no; it’s entirely my own idiotic excitability.  I can’t account for it.  Just don’t notice it, there’s a good fellow.”

“There was a pause.  Will glanced again at Applegarth’s note, whilst Sherwood went, as usual, to stand before the bookcase, and run his eye along the shelves.

“Anything new in my way?” he asked.  “I want a good long quiet read.  —­Palgrave’s Arabia!  Where did you pick up that?  One of the most glorious books I know.  That and Layard’s Early Travels sent me to heaven for a month, once upon a time.  You don’t know Layard?  I must give it to you.  The essence of romance!  As good in its way as the Arabian Nights.”

Thus he talked on for a quarter of an hour, and it seemed to relieve him.  Returning to matters of the day, he asked, half abruptly: 

“Have you the St. Neots cheque yet?”

“Came this morning.”

“Payable to Sherwood Brothers, I suppose?” said Godfrey.  “Right.  It’s most convenient so.”

Will handed him the cheque, and he gazed at it as if with peculiar satisfaction.  He sat smiling, cheque in one hand, cigar in the other, until Warburton asked what he was thinking over.

“Nothing—­nothing.  Well, I suppose I’d better take it with me; I’m on my way to the bank.”

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.