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 Sir Arthur frowned and opened his cigar case. "And I for my part am convinced," he said, with a sigh as he cut off the end of a Corona, "that our friend William is a cunning scoundrel, who has been deep enough to get this young woman to do the dirty work and run all the risks, because he must know as well as anybody that a great deal of money is at stake."

Laura Babraham had a considerable respect for her father's judgment, yet she knew the value of her own. She did not think it was possible to be so deceived; her dealings with William had left her with the highest regard for his straightforwardness; if he proved to be the despicable creature Sir Arthur's fancy painted him, never again would she be able to hold an opinion about anyone. Yet her father's analysis of the case, as it presented itself to her clear mind, left her on the horns of a dilemma. Either this young man was a fool, or he was a rogue. Beset by two evils, she chose without hesitation that which to the feminine mind appeared the less.

"He's always struck one as rather simple in some ways and too much under the thumb of the old dealer, yet he's really very clever."

Sir Arthur drew mental energy from his Corona. "Not clever enough to keep honest, my dear."

"Please don't prejudge him. That wicked old man is at the back of all."

"Well, that is just what we have now to find out."

Laura assented; yet then arose the question as to the means by which the truth could be won. It was likely to resolve itself into an affair of William's word against the word of his master. Whoever could tell the more plausible tale would be believed; and Will