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And then there came into his orbit a most obliging financier who handsomely accepted the task of settling with troublesome banks and clamouring Shylocks. Lord Creith was grateful. Deuced grateful. He sold the reversionary rights in the Creith estates, and not only discharged at one sweep all his liabilities, but touched real money.

He was in his library, examining with interest Tattersall's Sale Catalogue, when his guest came in unannounced.

"Hullo, Hamon!" he said without any great geniality. "Had breakfast?"

"Joan had breakfast out," said Hamon curtly.

"Did she?" asked Creith, looking at him over his glasses and at a loss to continue, yet feeling that something was expected of him he added: "Did she?"

Hamon pulled up a chair and seated himself at the opposite side of the writing-table.

"Have you ever thought what will happen when you die?" he asked.

Lord Creith blinked quickly.

"Never thought of it, Hamon, never thought of it. I've been a good churchman, though the tithes are an infernal nuisance—I suppose I'll go up to heaven with the best of 'em."