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Updated: June 24, 2025


He caused himself to be driven to the Pillin residence in Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the ground floor, heated in American fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat. A man of sanguine constitution, he found this hot-house atmosphere a little trying. And having sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's reluctant refusal Quite so!

Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress or be his natural daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him. Any such connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his son's ignorance. Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that old Heythorp had made the settlement. He could only have got that from the woman herself.

A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's would have seen that he also moved his ears. "Of old Heythorp's? Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and that son of his in the Admiralty." Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him. "She is, though lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter. I thought you might know her stories clever woman." Mr. Ventnor smiled.

Scrivens young Pillin had said! But Crow & Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were old Heythorp's solicitors. What could that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover the tracks of a secret commission, and had handled the matter through solicitors who did not know the state of his affairs! But why Pillin's solicitors? With this sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy to them too.

Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! What a young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin! "How's your father?" he said. "Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you haven't any news for him, sir?" Old Heythorp nodded.

One could not indefinitely extend one's subscriptions even for the best of causes! he said gently: "By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?" The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with difficulty down his scraggy throat.

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