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, and felt it warmly pressed.

They were together in the room; neither had spoken.  Will pointed to a chair, but did not himself sit down.

“I suppose it’s all true, Warburton,” began the other in a low voice, “but I can’t believe it yet.  I seem to be walking in a nightmare; and when you gave me your hand at the door, I thought for a second that I’d just woke up.”

“Sit down,” said Will, “and let’s have it out.  Give me the details.”

“That’s exactly what I wish to do.  Of course I haven’t been to bed, and I’ve spent the night in writing out a statement of all my dealings for the past fifteen months.  Here it is—­and here are my pass-books.”

Will took the paper, a half-sheet of foolscap, one side almost covered with figures.  At a glance he saw that the statement was perfectly intelligible.  The perusal of a few lines caused him to look up in astonishment.

“You mean to say that between last September and the end of the year you lost twenty-five thousand pounds?”

“I did.”

“And you mean to say that you still went on with your gambling?”

“Things were getting bad in Ailie Street, you know.”

“And you did your best to make them desperate.”  Sherwood’s head seemed trying to bury itself between his shoulders; his feet hid themselves under the chair, he held his hat in a way suggestive of the man who comes to beg.

“The devil of the City got hold of me,” he replied, with a miserable attempt to look Warburton in the face.

“Yes,” said Will, “that’s clear.  Then, a month ago, you really possessed only nine thousand pounds?”

“That was all I had left, out of nearly forty thousand.”

“What astonishes me is, that you won from time to time.”

“I did!” exclaimed Godfrey, with sudden animation.  “Look at the fifth of February—­that was a great day!  It’s that kind of thing that tempts a man on.  Afterwards I lost steadily but I might have won any day.  And I had to make a good deal, if we were to come to terms with Applegarth.  I nearly did it.  I was as cautious as a man could be—­content with small things.  If only I hadn’t been pressed for time!  It was only the want of time that made me use your money.  Of course, it was criminal.  Don’t think I wish to excuse myself for one moment.  Absolutely criminal.  I knew what was at stake.  But I thought the thing was sure.  It promised at the least twenty-five per cent.  We should have started brilliantly at Bristol—­several thousands for advertisement, beyond our estimate.  I don’t think the Biggles people were dishonest—­”