"Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the first magnitude!"
Lovell betrayed his astonishment by a slight start; however, he faced Warde with a smile. Warde, clean-shaven, alert, with youthful figure, looked but little older than his pupil. For a moment the two stared steadily at each other; then, very politely, Lovell said—
"No, sir, he does not."
Warde continued curtly, "Then he has paid you what he did owe you?"
Lovell nodded, shrugging his shoulders. Plainly, Warde had discovered the fact of the debt. Probably that fool Beaumont-Greene had applied to his father, and the father had written to Warde. It was unthinkable that Warde knew more than this. Having reached this conclusion, Lovell turned over in his mind two or three specious lies that might meet the exigency.
"Yes," he replied, with apparent frankness, "Beaumont-Greene did owe me money, and he has paid me."
After a slight pause, Warde said quietly, "It is my duty, as your tutor, to ask you how Beaumont-Greene became indebted to you?"
"I lent him the money," said Lovell.
"Ah! Please call 'Boy.'"
Lovell went into the passage. Had he an intuition that he was about to call "Boy" for the last time, or did the pent-up excitement find an outlet in sound? He had never called "Boy" so loudly or clearly. The night-fag scurried up again.