Wingrave shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I know nothing about mines. My visit could not teach me anything one way or the other. I have sent a commission of experts. I am tired of cities and money-making. I want a change.”

Aynesworth looked at him suddenly. The weariness was there indeed—was it his fancy, or was it something more than weariness which shone out of the dark, tired eyes?

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

BOOK II

[ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]

“MR. WINGRAVE FROM AMERICA”

“Four years ago tonight,” Aynesworth said, looking round the club smoking room thoughtfully, “we bade you farewell in this same room!”

Lovell, wan and hollow-eyed, his arm in a sling, his once burly frame gaunt and attenuated with disease, nodded.

“And I told you the story,” he remarked, “of—the man who had been my friend.”