“Did she give him money?”

“Yes, she did; but he didn’t get much out of that, because he found that crowd so expensive to run with. He wasn’t naturally one of that sort. He didn’t enjoy gambling, though he had to do it, to keep in with them; and he wasn’t a drinker. In some ways, I’d have liked him better if he had been. He wouldn’t dope, either. I expect that’s why Miss de Momerie got tired of him. The worst of that crowd, you know, is that they can’t rest till they’ve made everybody they have to do with as bad as themselves. If they’d only drug themselves into their graves and have done with it, the sooner they did it the better it would be for every one. I’d cheerfully hand the stuff over to them by the cartload. But they get hold of quite decent people and ruin them for life. That’s why I got so worried about Pamela.”

“But you say that Victor managed to remain undefiled.”

“Yes, but Pamela’s different. She’s rather impulsive and easily-no, not easily led, but easily excited about things. She’s high-spirited and likes to try everything once. If she once gets a sort of enthusiasm for a person, she wants to do the same as they do. She needs somebody-well, never mind that. I don’t want to discuss Pamela. I only mean that Victor was just the opposite. He was very careful of himself, and he had a very good eye for the main chance.”

“Do you mean that he was the sort of man who makes what he can out of his friends?”

“He was the kind of man who never has his own cigarettes, and never happens to be there, if he can help it, when it’s his turn to stand the drinks. And he’d pick your brains every time.”

“He must have had a pretty good reason, then, for going round with Dian de Momerie’s lot. As you say, they’re expensive.”

“Yes; he must have seen something remunerative in the distance. And when it came to sacrificing his sister-”

“Exactly. Well, that’s all rather by the way. What I wanted to know from you was this: supposing he found out that somebody-say somebody in this office-as it might be yourself-had a skeleton in the closet, to use the pretty old metaphor, was Victor Dean the kind of fellow to-er-to dispose of that skeleton to an anatomist?”

“Blackmail, do you mean?” asked Willis, bluntly.

“That’s a strong word. But call it that.”

“I don’t quite know,” said Willis, after a few moments’ consideration. “It’s a devil of a thing to suggest about anybody, isn’t it? But I can only say that the question gives me no shock. If you were to tell me that he had blackmailed somebody, it wouldn’t surprise me very much. Only, as it’s a pretty serious offence, it would have to be a very safe kind of blackmail, with the sort of victim who couldn’t possibly afford to face a court of law. Mind you, I haven’t the least reason to suppose he ever did anything of the kind. And he certainly never seemed to be particularly flush of cash. Not that that’s much to go by, with a careful fellow like him. He wouldn’t have let wads of banknotes come tumbling out his desk.”

“You think the tumbling about of notes affords a presumption of innocence?”

“Not a bit. Only of carelessness, and Dean certainly wasn’t careless.”

“Well, thanks for speaking so frankly.”

“That’s all right. Only, for goodness’ sake, don’t let Pamela know what I’ve been saying about Victor. I’ve had trouble enough about that.”

Bredon assured him that he need not fear any such fantastic indiscretion, and took his leave, polite but still puzzled.

Mr. Tallboy was lying in wait for him at the end of the passage.

“Oh, Bredon, I’m very much obliged to you, of course. I’m sure I can rely on you not to spread the thing any further than it’s gone already. All quite absurd, of course. That fool Tompkin seems to have lost his head completely. I’ve ticked him off properly.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” replied Bredon. “Just so. Much ado about nothing. No real necessity for me to have butted in at all. But you never know. I mean to say, if you’d been detained and Miss Vavasour had got tired of waiting or-well, you know what I mean.”

“Yes.” Tallboy licked his dry lips. “It might have been very awkward. When girls get hysterical and so on, they sometimes say more than they mean. I’ve been a bit of a fool, as I dare say you’ve gathered. I’m cutting it all out now. I’ve settled everything all right. Worrying, of course, but nothing really desperate.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“You’re looking a bit over-done.”

“I feel it. The fact is, I was up all night. My wife-well, the fact is, my wife had a baby last night. That was partly why-oh, hell, what’s it matter, anyhow?”

“I quite understand,” said Bredon. “Very wearing business. Why didn’t you take the day off?”

“I didn’t want to do that. It’s my busy day. Much better to occupy one’s mind. Besides, there wasn’t any necessity. Everything went all right. I suppose you think I’m an awful swine.”

“You’re not the first, by any means,” said Bredon.

“No-it’s rather usual, I believe. It’s not going to happen again, I can tell you.”

“It must have put you in a hell of a hole-all this.”

“Yes-at least-not so bad. As you say, I’m not the only man it’s ever happened to. It doesn’t do to let one’s self be upset, does it? Well, as I said, thanks very much and-that’s all, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. There’s nothing whatever to thank me about. Well, sonnie, what do you want?”

“Any letters to go, sir?”

“No, thanks,” said Bredon.

“Oh, stop a minute,” said Tallboy. “Yes, I’ve got one.” He searched in his breast-pocket and pulled out an envelope, all ready sealed. “Lend me a pen one moment, Bredon. Here, boy, take this penny-halfpenny and run along to Miss Rossiter and ask her for a stamp.”

He took the pen Bredon held out, and bending over the desk addressed the envelope hurriedly to “T. Smith, Esq.” Bredon, idly watching him, was caught by his eye in the act, and apologized.

“I beg your pardon; I was snooping. Beastly habit. One catches it in the typists’ room.”

“All right-it’s only a note to a stockbroker.”

“Lucky man to have anything to stockbroke.”

Tallboy laughed, stamped the letter and tossed it to the waiting boy.

“And so ends an exhausting day,” he observed.

“Toule very tiresome?”

“Not more so than usual. He turned down ‘Like Niobe, all Tears.’ Said he didn’t know who Niobe was and he didn’t suppose anybody else did either. But he passed this week’s ‘Tears, Idle Tears,’ because when he was a boy his father used to read Tennyson aloud to the family circle.”

“That’s one saved from the wreck, anyhow.”

“Oh, yes. He liked the general idea of the poetical quotations. Said he thought they gave his advertisements class. You’ll have to think up some more. He likes the ones that illustrate well.”

“All right. ‘Like Summer Tempest came her Tears.’ That’s Tennyson, too. Picture of the nurse of ninety years setting his babe upon her knee. Babies always go well. (Sorry, we don’t seem able to get off babies.) Start the copy, Tears are often a relief to overwrought nerves, but when they flow too often, too easily, it is a sign that you need Nutrax.’ I’ll do that one. Bassanio and Antonio: ‘I know not why I am so Sad.’ Carry the quote on into the copy. ‘Causeless depression, like Antonio’s, wearies both the sufferer and his friends. Go to the root of the matter and tone up the overstrung Nerves with Nutrax.’ I can do that sort of thing by the hour.”

Mr. Tallboy smiled wanly.

“It’s a pity we can’t cure ourselves with our own nostrums, isn’t it?”

Mr. Bredon surveyed him critically.

“What you need,” he said, “is a good dinner and a bottle of fizz.”