He gulped down half his whisky and sat for a moment gazing into the fire.
"Jim, old man," he said at length, "I've had awful news."
"Not connected with Miss Glanville?" I asked.
"In a way, yes. It's broken off, but there's worse than that—far worse. I can hardly realise it; I feel numbed at present; it's too horrible. You remember that when you and I were at Winchester together my father was killed during the Matabele War?"
I nodded.
"Well," continued Jack, "I heard to-day that he was not killed by the Matabele, but was hanged in Bulawayo for murder. In other words, I am the son of a murderer."
"Hanged for murder!" I exclaimed in horror. "Surely there's some mistake?"
"No," groaned Jack, "it's true enough. I've seen the newspaper cutting of the time, and I'm the son of a murderer, who was also a forger, a thief, and a card-sharper. Old Glanville told me this evening. It was then that our engagement was broken off."
"Your mother?" I asked. "Have you seen her?"
Jack nodded.