"The medicine!" Aynsley requested in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

"No," said Miss Dexter firmly. "He has had six drops."

Aynsley yielded, for it was plain that his father was recovering. A moment later Clay raised himself in his chair and looked at Miss Dexter with a feeble, apologetic smile.

"Sorry I made this disturbance."

"Are you feeling better?" Aynsley asked.

"Quite all right in a minute." Clay turned to Osborne. "It would be bad manners to blame your cook; guess the fault was mine. Got breakfast early, and had no time for lunch."

Though he had made a hearty dinner, the explanation he suggested did not satisfy the others, and Ruth thought it significant that he had made it so promptly. They did not, however, trouble him with questions, and after a while he rose and walked to another chair.

"The car won't be needed," Aynsley said to Osborne.

"The car?" Clay interposed. "What did you want it for?"

"We had thought of sending for a doctor," Aynsley answered deprecatingly.

Clay frowned.

"Shucks! You're easily scared; I wouldn't have seen him. Where's that bottle?" He slipped it hastily into his pocket and turned to Ruth. "Very sorry all this happened; feel ashamed of myself. Now I wonder whether you'll give us some music."

They went into the drawing-room, and Clay chose an easy chair at some distance from the others. He cared nothing for music, but he felt shaky, and he was glad of an excuse for sitting quiet. Moreover, he wanted time to think. It looked as if the doctor, whom he had begun to doubt, had after all been right. He had had a warning which he could not neglect; and as he rather vacantly watched the girl at the piano it was borne in upon him that she had probably saved his life. The others had thought him insensible, but she had guessed that he was feeling for the remedy which had pulled him round.

It was a pity she had refused Aynsley, but he bore her no ill-will, although he was generally merciless to those who thwarted him. He would have liked to thank her, but that was inadvisable, for he must not admit that he had had a dangerous attack. Then it struck him that if he were seriously threatened, it might be well to take precautions. There was a good offer he had received for some property he wished to sell, but he had not answered because all the terms were not settled, and he did not wish to seem eager. It might be better to close the matter now. When he had thanked Ruth for the song, he quietly made his way to Osborne's writing-room.

It was necessary to write several letters, and he found his fingers nerveless and composition difficult. Indeed, he laid the pen down and then resolutely took it up again. He was not going to be beaten by a bodily weakness, and n.o.body must notice that his writing was shaky. He tore up the first letter and wrote it again in a firm, legible hand, though the sweat the effort cost him gathered on his forehead. His schemes must be completed and all his affairs straightened out before he gave in. The man was ruthless and unscrupulous, but he had unflinching courage and an indomitable will.

In the billiard-room Osborne was talking to Aynsley.

"What do you think about your father?" he asked.

"I'm anxious. Of course, he made light of the matter, and, so far as I know, he's never been troubled in this way before, but I didn't like his look."

"It struck me as significant that he'd seen a doctor," Osborne remarked.

"The bottle proves that. From the careful directions about the dose it must have been made up from a prescription. Anyway, he's been overdoing it lately, and perhaps you had better go along and see what he's about.

If he's attending to any business, make him stop and bring him down."

Aynsley entered the writing-room and left it in a few minutes, rudely dismissed. Coming down, he made an excuse for taking Ruth into the hall.

"I know you'll do me a favor," he begged.

"Of course. I suppose it concerns your father?"

Aynsley nodded.

"He's writing letters, and I'm afraid it will do him harm. He looks far from fit, but he's in a most contrary mood, and ordered me out when I hinted that he'd better stop. Knowing what he's capable of, I thought I'd better go."

He spoke lightly, but Ruth saw the uneasiness he wished to conceal.

"Do you think I could persuade him?"

"I'd like you to try. Anyway, he won't be rude to you; and I've a suspicion that you have some influence over him. You ought to be flattered, because n.o.body else has."

Ruth went to the writing-room and stood beside Clay with a reproachful smile. She felt pitiful. The man looked ill.

"We really can't allow you to leave us in this way," she said. "Besides, it's too late to think of business matters."

"I suppose Aynsley sent you," he answered with grim bluntness. "It would be better if you took him in hand instead of me. The boy wants looking after; he's got no nerve."

"You ought not to blame him for feeling anxious about you. However, I'm your hostess and I don't think you are treating me well. When I tell you to put away those papers you can't disobey."

Clay gave her a steady look.

"Anything you ask me will be done," he said. "But, as a favor, will you give me another five minutes?"

"Of course. But you might exceed it, so I think I'll wait."

Before the time had quite elapsed Clay closed the last envelope with a firm hand, and a few minutes later they entered the drawing-room and Aynsley gave Ruth a grateful glance.

When Clay returned to Vancouver he called at once on the doctor; and when he left his face was grim, for he had been plainly told that he was worse, and must change his mode of life at once; but this was more than Clay could consent to do. He had money in a number of ventures, none of which had yet achieved the success he looked for. Time was needed before he could bring them to the desired consummation, and if he sold out now it must be at a sacrifice of the handsome profit that might otherwise be secured. He would be left with only a moderate fortune, and he meant to be rich. Ambitious as he was for his son, he had also a keen reluctance to leaving his work half finished. In fact, it was obvious that he must hold on for a year or two longer.

Moreover, the doctor had warned him against increasing the dose of the restorative, which Clay admitted having done. The powerful drug had braced him up when he suffered from reaction after any unusual strain and he had come to regard it as a reliable standby. Now he must curtail its use, and he would feel the deprivation. Then, since he was running some risk, it was advisable to take precautions. First of all, the wreck must be destroyed. If he should be cut off suddenly, no evidence must be left behind to spoil his son's career. Aynsley must bear an untarnished name.

The first step would be to get Jimmy Farquhar and his companions out of the way-to buy them off if possible; if not-A hard look crept into Clay's eyes, and he sat down at once and wrote a short note to Jimmy.

CHAPTER XXIV-THE GIRL IN THE BOAT

Trade was slack in the Pacific province, and men from the interior flocked down to the coast and overflowed the employment bureaus. This made it unusually hard for Jimmy and his friends to find work. For a month they had done almost nothing, only an odd job now and then; they were in arrears with their hotel bill; and the future looked anything but bright to them.

After supper one evening they sat in the lobby of their shabby hotel in a gloomy mood. Jimmy had found temporary work, and since early morning had been loading a vessel with lumber in a pouring rain. All day he had been wet through, and he was tired and sore. He had grown thin, and had a gaunt, determined look.

"What's this?" he exclaimed, examining Clay's envelope, which had just been handed to him. "I have no acquaintances in Vancouver who use expensive stationery." He read the note and then looked up with a surprised frown. "It's from Clay! He asks me to meet him in the smoking-room of his hotel. It's the big, smart place they've lately opened."

"Oho!" said Bethune. "I've been expecting this. I suppose you mean to go?"

"What's your opinion?"

"Perhaps it might be wiser to take no notice of the invitation; but I don't know. I'd like to see the fellow and hear what he has to say. It's curious that we haven't met him yet, though we have felt his influence."

"Anyway, I'm not going alone. I might make a mess of things; he's evidently a cunning rogue. If you think it's wise to see him, you'll have to come."

"We'll all go," said Bethune with a grin. "I believe he knows us already, and he won't get much out of Hank."