“I must confirm it. The numbers Mr. Pelham backed have been tampered with.”
“Are you certain?”
“Most certain.”
He lit a fresh cigar, and threw away the old one.
“These things are not done without human agency, Fred.”
“Indeed not. Very skilful hands have been at work upon that wheel. Were it not that I desire not to risk your friendship, Sydney, which I value highly, I should impart something to you concerning Mr. Pelham which has come to my knowledge.”
He did not reply for a few moments, and then he said, “We tremble on the brink sometimes, but it is only cowards who fly. How beautiful the night is, Fred! The world is very lovely—the stars to me are living things. Even now, when I seem to feel that Fate has something horrible in store for me, they whisper peace into my soul. Ah, friend of mine! that a man’s hope, and heart, and holiest wish should be at the mercy of a rickster! It is sad and laughable. This flower in my coat was given to me by Grace; it is dead.” He made a motion as if he would fling it from him, but he restrained himself, and crushing it in his hand, put it into his breast pocket. As I looked at him with loving pity, he put his handkerchief to his mouth, and drew it away, stained with blood.
“Sydney!” I cried, in alarm.