follies than troubled about his sufferings, Will came home again.  He wrote a brief, not unfriendly letter to Franks, urging him to return to his better mind—­the half-disdainful, half-philosophical resignation which he seemed to have attained a month ago.  The answer to this was a couple of lines; “Thanks.  Your advice, no doubt, is well meant, but I had rather not have it just now.  Don’t let us meet for the present.”  Will shrugged his shoulders, and tried to forget all about the affair.

He did not see Sherwood, but had a note from him written in high spirits.  Applegarth would be in town two days hence, and all three were to dine at his hotel.  Having no occupation, Warburton spent most of his time in walking about London; but these rambles did not give him the wonted pleasure, and though at night he was very tired, he did not sleep well.  An inexplicable nervousness interfered with all his habits of mind and body He was on the point of running down to St. Neots, to get through the last day of intolerable idleness, when the morning post again brought a letter from Sherwood.

“Confound the fellow!” he muttered, as he tore open the envelope.  “What else can he have to say?  No infernal postponement, I hope—­”

He read the first line and drew himself up like a man pierced with pain.

“My dear Warburton”—­thus wrote his partner, in a hand less legible than of wont—­“I have such bad news for you that I hardly know how to tell it.  If I dared, I would come to you at once, but I simply have not the courage to face you until you know the worst, and have had time to get accustomed to it.  It is seven o’clock; an hour ago I learnt that all our money is lost—­all yours, all that from St. Neots, all mine—­every penny I have.  I have been guilty of unpardonable folly—­how explain my behaviour?  The truth is, after the settlement in Little Ailie Street; I found myself much worse off than I had expected.  I went into the money market, and made a successful deal.  Counting on being able to repeat this, I guaranteed the sixteen thousand for Bristol; but the second time I lost.  So it has gone on; all these last weeks I have been speculating, winning and losing.  Last Tuesday, when I came to see you, I had about twelve thousand, and hoped somehow to make up the deficiency.  As the devil would have it, that same morning I met a City acquaintance, who spoke of a great coup to be made by any one who had some fifteen thousand at command.  It meant an immediate profit of 25 per cent.  Like a fool, I was persuaded—­as you will see when I go into details, the thing looked horribly tempting.  I put it all—­every penny that lay at our bank in the name of Sherwood Bros.  And now I learn that the house I trusted has smashed.  It’s in the papers this evening—­Biggles, Thorpe and Biggles—­ you’ll see it.  I dare not ask you to forgive me.  Of course I shall at once take steps to raise the money owing to you, and hope to be able to do that soon, but it’s all over with the Bristol affair.  I shall come to see you at twelve to-morrow.