gie with satisfaction. "Quite intentional, Lomas, old thing. He's on his guard all right. But he don't know how little we know. I meant to put him in a funk. I want to see what a funk will make him do."
Lomas looked at him steadily. "For a very moral man," he said, "you have a good deal of the devil about you."
"I think I ought to say, Mr. Fortune," said Bell, "we've all been in a hurry to judge Mr. Kimball. I said things myself. And I do say he's not a Christian man—an unbeliever, I'm afraid. But I had ought to say too, he lives a very clean life. Always has. Temperate, very quiet style, a thorough good master, generous to his employees, and always ready to come down handsome for a good cause."
"Who is Kimball, Bell?" said Reggie quietly.
"Sir?" Bell stared. "He's always been known, sir. Started in Liverpool on the Cotton Exchange. Went into rubber. Came to London. That's his career. All quite open and straight."
"And we don't know a damned thing about him."
"Well, really, Fortune, you're rather exacting. You're after his soul, I suppose," said Lomas, with something like a sneer.
"Who is Kimball?" Reggie insisted. "There's two unknown quantities. Who is Kimball? Who is Sandford?"
"I'm afraid you want the Day of Judgment, my
