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Gray appeared at his desk the next morning at his usual hour. The office learned in due course that he had had some trouble and had taken a day off. The loss of an annuity of five hundred pounds a year did not appear to weigh on him so heavily as might have been supposed. At half-past ten he went upstairs, in response to a request for his presence.

George Early was occupying his accustomed place, perhaps a little paler than usual, but very intent on business.

"You sent for me," said Gray.

"I did," said his master. "I should like you to explain your strange absence from business yesterday."

Gray grinned. "I was burying my grandmother," he said.

He received a look of severe reproof. "I believe I am right in assuming that you were out making a beast of yourself," said George.

"I was out with Flora," replied Gray.

George coughed and became interested in a letter.

"As you did not turn up yesterday," he explained, "I felt it my duty to inquire about you. In the interests of yourself and your wife I endeavoured to do you a good turn."

"Thanks," said Gray. "I'll do the same for you when the time comes."

"Go back to your work," ordered his master, "and don't let it occur again."

"It's no good asking you to have a drink, I suppose?" said Gray.

George Early turned pale and swore softly. "I suppose you know all," he said.

"Everything," Gray confessed. "You're not the only artful one in the firm."

"I'll sack you if you're not careful," cried George.

Gray laughed. He opened the door to go out, but paused on the threshold.

"Keep your eye on the other two," he said significantly.

George rested awhile from his labours, in order to curse for the hundredth time the imbecility of the late venerable head of the firm. The worst of a legacy such as he was blessed with was that nobody but himself realized the hardships of it. When he grumbled his wife soothed him with soft words; but he knew that in her heart she believed it was good for him to be a teetotaler.

What troubled him more than this was the terrible probability of receiving fifteen hundred pounds a year instead of five hundred. If Parrott and Busby should fail as Gray had done, and the three legacies came to him, life would not be worth living. He must make his plans at once, without a moment's delay.

The rest of the morning was devoted to a straight talk with Busby, in which George pointed out that having taken the place of the late venerable head of the firm, he was prepared to adhere to his principles. He exhorted Busby to shun the ways of the untruthful as he would a fiery furnace, and to walk henceforth among those who were honest. He promised to forward without delay a life-sized portrait of George Washington, which Busby might hang in his bedroom.

Parrott was treated to a similar discourse, and urged to respond with alacrity to all requests for pecuniary assistance.

"Generosity," said George, sagely, "is its own reward. It is sinful to have money and to keep it to ourselves. Let us give it to those who are poor, especially when they ask for it."

For the better safety of their master's interests the two legatees were informed that the lawyers had at last woke up, and had terrible sleuth-hounds on their track, under whose deadly eyes Gray had fallen a victim.

The next morning the office staff, on taking up their duties, were electrified to see the walls of the building adorned with the newest of religious texts, including such good counsel as "Honesty is the best policy," "Tell the truth and shame the devil," "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

"Seems to me," observed Cacklin, "that the boss is going to start a Sunday School, and he wants us all to join his class."

"Perhaps they're put up to give the new chap a good start," said William Budd.

"What new chap?"

"Chap in Matthews' place."

"Matthews gone?"

"Got a new job," explained Billy; "asked the boss if his cousin could take his place here. There's the new feller. See?"

"He's a nice piece of pie-crust," said Cacklin, critically. "Here!" He called to the youth, who stood awkwardly near the doorway. "What name?"

"Bailey, sir," replied the youth.

"Any relation to Old Bailey?" inquired Cacklin.

Billy grinned.

"No, sir," said the youth.

"All right," said Cacklin; "wait over there. Decent sort of chap," he remarked, flattered by the youth's respectful attitude.

This opinion was echoed throughout the office during the three following days. On the fourth, Busby received a blue envelope from Dibbs and Dubbs. On the fifth, Bailey met a friend outside the office at closing time, and pointed out to him the form of Parrott wending his way to Blackfriars, whereupon the friend immediately left Bailey and went also to Blackfriars. Three days after this incident, Parrott himself received a blue letter from the lawyers.

Energetic as was George Early, these incidents passed without his notice, illustrating the truth of the adage about the best laid schemes of mice and men going "aft agley." Not that he was negligent, the personal attention he gave to the head clerk and the cashier was quite pathetic. They lunched with him, had tea in his private office, and frequently went to Brunswick Terrace to dinner. Sometimes the master would even accompany them home.

Busby was promoted to the post of private secretary at an increased salary, and a great deal of Parrott's time was spent upstairs in the big office. At intervals, Mr. George Early sent them little gifts of books, wherein the value of truth on the one hand, and generosity on the other, were set forth.

If George Early had only known the qualities of the new head of Dibbs and Dubbs, things might have been different. That energetic young man, intent upon earning the fees due to him, and with a keen eye to future business, shadowed the legatees everywhere. George found it a comparatively easy matter to keep to temperance with so much at stake, but Busby, conscious of his own defects and the pernicious results of habit, hardly dared to open his mouth. Parrott, too, was sorely tried by the constant demands on his purse, and the mind-raking trials of sorting out spies from "hard-ups."

Arriving early one morning at the office, the principal discovered among the letters two of the fatal blue envelopes. They were addressed to Busby and Parrott. With feverish haste he awaited the two subordinates, and then learned with indignation that these were the second warnings of each.

"To think," said George, addressing his crestfallen secretary, "that after all the trouble I've taken you couldn't keep an honest tongue in your head. Of course, it's of no consequence to me, except that I shall be sorry to see you lose the money."

"It's easy to make a mistake," faltered Busby.

"Easy be hanged!" replied his master. "You should have been careful. Come in!" as a knock sounded.

A boy entered, and said, "Gentleman to see you, sir."

"Can't see any one now," said George, irritably. "You go, Busby, and see who it is, Say I'll see him later."

Busby went gloomily down the stairs. The warning had cast a black cloud over his prospects, and his nerves, never under perfect control, were in an unsatisfactory condition. Only those who experience a sudden accession to wealth can adequately realize the sensation of feeling that it is going to be as suddenly snatched away. At the present moment he would have welcomed a snug log cabin in an uninhabited island, where the absence of people would preclude the necessity of lying. A tall stranger came forward as he reached the lower office.

"Are you Mr. Early?" he asked.

"No," said Busby, "you——"

"I wanted to see him," said the stranger.

"Fact is," replied the cashier, "he's not here. Can you call again about eleven?"

The stranger smiled, and pulled out a card-case.

"Yes," said Busby, taking the card absently. "I'll make an appointment for you at eleven."

The stranger departed, and Busby carried the piece of cardboard upstairs.

"What's this?" said George, glancing at the card. "Dibbs and Dubbs."

Busby let fall the inkstand he was lifting, and grasped the desk with both hands. The two men stared at each other.

"I've done it," said Busby, feebly, dropping back in a chair; "it's all over." He laughed hysterically and wiped away some moisture from one eye. "It's all over," he repeated in a silly, stupid way.

"Speak out," said George, hoarsely, trying to shake off a numbness that was creeping over him. "What have you done? What have you done? Out with it!"

"Told him—told him you were not here."

It is safe to say that the flow of profanity delivered by the new master of Fairbrothers' on receiving this intelligence was such as had never before resounded in the chief office during the firm's existence. Busby was too intent on his own loss to take much heed of it, or to wonder why the loss of five hundred pounds a year to his secretary should have such an effect on George Early, master of thousands. He lay back in a limp heap, feebly repeating at intervals, "I've done it; it's all over."

Animated by a faint hope that all was not lost, George summoned the office-boy. That youth, with quick intelligence and some pride, confessed that he had "told the gentleman Mr. Early was upstairs." As a reward Mr. Early swore at him, and sacked him on the spot.

An hour later the worried ironmonger sat alone in the big room. He had dispensed with his secretary's services for the rest of the day, and had given strict orders that no one was to be admitted to his presence. The appalling significance of his position was beginning to dawn upon him. Already he had two of the legacies, and the third was obviously a mere matter of time.

"You can't knock sense into the heads of these brutes," he reflected bitterly; "they don't understand generosity. Parrott'll go down as sure as my name's George."

He sat upright and tried to review the situation. A stiff glass of brandy would have been a help, but that was out of the question. This second legacy, of which he would probably receive notice in the morning, was ten times worse than the first. All his life George had been accustomed to equivocation, and to bind himself to speaking the whole truth and nothing but the truth was like asking him to keep his eyes shut for the rest of his life. He regretted the afternoons he had stayed away from Sunday School. He was positive that he would fail. And the third legacy would be even more appalling than the other two, for there was no doubt that the secret would get out. Gray, Busby, and Parrott would be sure to get news of all three, and Heaven knows how many more people besides, and then he would be simply besieged for money. It would be an impossible situation, and most unjust. He could see a most disastrous end to all his schemes. Himself brought to poverty, and with him a wife who had been reared in luxury.

The representative of Dibbs and Dubbs did not appear at eleven o'clock, so George decided to leave the stuffy atmosphere of Upper Thames Street and cool his brow on a Thames steamboat. Before leaving he confided to Parrott in the strictest confidence the calamity that had befallen his colleague, and urged him, while there was yet time, to reform.

"Give," said George, strenuously, "with a free hand. I know it's hard for you to do it, but do it. And look here"—as a brilliant thought struck him—"I'll stand half the debts, just to help you to get over the habit of refusing."

He went away more pleased than he had hoped to be. It really was a good idea that, and he could well afford it. Parrott did not look very hopeful in spite of the generous offer; probably he had less faith in himself, knowing himself better.

"Maybe," thought George, as he wended his way along Upper Thames Street, "I shall be able to think of some scheme to dodge all this. I used to have a few ideas at one time. I suppose there's some one on my track from the infernal lawyers now."

He turned round sharply, and observed a young man stop and bend a searching gaze on a bill announcing property for sale.

"That's the man. I must be careful to do the George Washington act, and stick hard to temperance principles." As he proceeded on his way, the young man, who was no other than the relentless Mole, carefully followed him.

It was late in the afternoon when he returned to Brunswick Terrace. During his wanderings he had not been able to shake off his pursuer, who tarried on the opposite side of the road as he entered the house. As he expected, a legal document awaited him, announcing the reversion of the second legacy.

"What a shame!" cried Mrs. Early, hotly, when she heard the news. "I do think papa might have shown a little more feeling."

"More feeling, my dear?" Aunt Phoebe bristled up. "Really, I'm surprised at you. For my part, I rejoice, and I can't understand why your husband doesn't do so. Surely it is a blessing to know that one is always telling the truth."

"Oh, I'm overwhelmed with joy," groaned George—"never felt happier in my life."

"We shall all be pleased, I think, to feel that we can rely on every word you say," said Aunt Phoebe, quietly.

"Ah," said George, "it's different here. Of course, at home it doesn't count. It isn't like——"

His aunt held up her hands. "I beg your pardon," she said; "I must differ. I give you warning; I must differ. It would be far from my wish to have to say a word that would injure either of you, but in the interests of truth and justice——"

"Truth and justice be hanged!"

"In the interests of truth and justice," persisted Aunt Phoebe, "I should be compelled—compelled to speak."

Mrs. Early burst into tears and cried, "Oh, Aunt Phoebe, how can you be so horrid!"

George protested in most vehement language, but Aunt Phoebe was firm.

"I couldn't sleep at night," she said, "for feeling that I had acted wrongfully. No, I couldn't do it."

"Well, I'd sooner you kept awake," said George, unfeelingly, "if you can't trust yourself."

Aunt Phoebe prepared to serve tea, and said curiously—

"I wonder that the habit of truth was not grounded in you when you were a Sunday School teacher. May I ask how many scholars you had?"

"You may not," replied her nephew, irritably. Why the devil did she want to remind him of that bit of polite fiction!

Aunt Phoebe looked meaningly at her niece. "Were you ever a Sunday School teacher?" she said, boldly continuing the attack.

"No!" blurted out George.

"There!" She folded her arms and looked again at her niece, whose sobs began afresh.

"Did you ever——"

"Oh, give me some tea," cried the wretched man. "I'm not going to sit here and be catechized like this."

"In the interests of my niece I demand it," continued his relentless aunt; "how many lives did you save before that affair in Regent Street?"

"I can't remember," said George, sullenly. "My memory's bad."

Aunt Phoebe smiled triumphantly. George proceeded to drink his tea in silence.

"I suppose," continued the old lady, "you never fell in love with any young ladies before you met my niece? Never took them up the river, and——"

George groaned and clapped his hand to his head.

"It's coming on," he said hoarsely.

Mrs. Early ran to him at once. "What is it, darling?" she cried.

"Let me get to the couch," said George in a low voice; "take my arm."

"Is it your poor head?" asked his wife, anxiously.

George groaned again. "I think it's a fit coming on."

"Oh, let me get the doctor. Aunt, send for the doctor—quick!"

"I don't think the doctor is needed," said Aunt Phoebe, pursing her lips. "If it gets worse we can throw some cold water over him."

"It isn't so bad as that," said George, hastily. "It's—it's my head."

"Poor, poor head!" said Mrs. Early, smoothing his hair.

"The truth's been too much for him," said Aunt Phoebe.

"Aunt, how can you!" cried Mrs. Early, tearfully. "I'm sure George is very, very unwell."

He managed to squeeze out another groan.

"Perhaps he'd better have some more tea," said Aunt Phoebe. "What is it?" to a maid who had entered.

"Letter for the master, ma'am."

"Another blue envelope," said Aunt Phoebe, taking the letter.

George looked up and stifled a curse. "Don't open it," he said. "I know what it is."

What could it be but the third and final legacy? He burst into a profuse perspiration, and smothered his wrath in the cushions of the sofa.

"Is oo better now, dearie?" asked his wife.

George raised himself into a sitting position. "It's gone off a bit," he said. "I think I'll go out and walk it off." A new idea had come into his head, and he wanted solitude to think it over.

"I shouldn't go out, dearie," advised Mrs. Early, anxiously. "Your poor head might get bad again."

George kissed her and summoned up a feeble smile.

"It's better now, pet," he said; "a walk will just put me right."

He took the blue letter into the hall and opened it. It was as he suspected. Parrott had evidently had the third warning that morning, and not the second.

Outside George found the patient figure of Mole taking careful observation. He appeared not to notice him, but turned away in the direction of Hyde Park. The cool air revived him, and he sat listening to the band for half an hour. Finding in its music no solution to the problems confronting him, he turned out of the gate and strolled along Piccadilly.

"It was in this neighbourhood that I did the heroic act and let myself in for this," thought George. "I only wish I could find a way out of it here."

Food was necessary to keep up his strength, so he entered the CafÉ Royal and ordered a sumptuous dinner. The indefatigable sleuth-hound did likewise at a respectful distance.

"Now," thought George, as he emerged with the satisfied feeling that only a good dinner can give, "now I must try to think it out. I had luck in this spot before—if you can call it luck. Perhaps I'll get the same again."

But the goddess of fortune failed to appear, nor did George succeed in meeting her during his subsequent two hours' stroll. All his own ideas went down before the ingenious complications conceived by the late head of the Fairbrother firm.

He sighed deeply as he stood on the doorstep at Brunswick Terrace searching for his latch-key. The sigh was succeeded by a smile. Before inserting the key in the lock George turned and looked thoughtfully at a ghostly figure on the other side of the road.

"Well," he said with a valiant attempt at hilarity, "I'll try being good for a time, and see how that works."

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