again. He had the dictatorial air of a very small, quite hopeless man, a man mystified by a blow of unknown provenance. "I tell you . . ." he began again.
"But what has it to do with me?" I said roughly.
"Oh, but you . . . you advised me to buy." He had become supplicatory. "Didn't you, now? . . . Didn't you . . . You said, you remember . . . that . . ." I didn't answer the man. What had I got to say? He remained looking intently at me, as if it were of the greatest moment to him that I should make the acknowledgment and share the blame—as if it would take an immense load from his shoulders. I couldn't do it; I hated him.
"Didn't you," he began categorically: "didn't you advise me to buy those debentures of de Mersch's?" I did not answer.
"What does it all mean?" he said again. "If this bill doesn't get through, I tell you I shall be ruined. And they say that Mr. Gurnard is going to smash it. They are all saying it, up there; and that you—you on the Hour . . . are . . . are responsible." He took out a hand-
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