James approached his father, and placed his hand upon his shoulder.
"Father," he began, "why won't you let me share your trouble with you? Surely we should be able to find some way of ridding ourselves of this man?"
"No, there is no way," said Standerton. "He has got a hold upon me that nothing will ever shake off."
"I will not believe, father, that he knows anything to your discredit," cried Jim passionately.
"And you are right, my lad," his father replied. "He knows nothing to my discredit. I hope no one else does; but—but there—do not ask any more. Some day I will tell you the whole miserable story. But not now. You must not ask me. Believe me, dear lad, when I say that it would be better not."
"Then what will you do?"
"See him, and buy him off once more, I suppose. Then I shall have peace for a few months. Do you know where he is staying?"
"At the 'George and Dragon,'" Jim replied.
"Then I must send a note down to him and ask him to come up here," said Standerton. "Now go and dress. Don't trouble yourself about him."
All things considered, the dinner that night could not be described as a success. William Standerton was more silent than usual, and his son almost equalled him. Alice tried hard to cheer them both, but finding her efforts unsuccessful, she also lapsed into silence. A diversion, however, was caused before the meal was at an end. The butler had scarcely completed the circuit of the table with the port, before a piercing scream ran through the building, followed by another, and yet another.