“I shall go and get it made known on ’Change the moment it is open, sir.”
“But—but if you waited a little while, Clive, to give me time, I—”
“My old friend—my father’s trusted companion would not ask me to wait an instant before crushing a blackguardly conspiracy, sir. I cannot wait, and if I can trace this business to the source, I’ll do it, if it costs me thousands.”
“You—you don’t think that Jessop—”
“No!” cried Clive fiercely. “I don’t—I won’t think such a thing of my own brother. He ousted me in one great aim of my life; he is a spendthrift, and dishonourable enough; but, hang it, no, I won’t give him the credit for this.”
There was a tap at the door.
“Yes. Come in.”
The Doctor’s quiet, grave servant in spotless black, looking as if he had been up for hours, entered with a tray, bearing hot tea and dry toast, placing it upon the table without a word, and leaving at once.
“Take some tea, Clive, my boy,” said the Doctor, going quietly now to his visitor, placing his hands upon his shoulders, and pressing him down into a chair. “Forgive me, my dear boy. No; of course, you could not do such a dishonourable act. I beg your pardon.”
“Granted, Doctor.”