BOOTH. Scarcely matters to boast of!

TRENCHARD. Oh, you try playing the fool with other people's money, and keeping your neck out of the noose for twelve years. It's not so easy.

EDWARD. Then, of course, he always protested that things would come right . . that he'd clear the firm and have a fortune to the good. Or that if he were not spared I might do it. But he must have known that was impossible.

TRENCHARD. But there's the gambler all over.

EDWARD. Why, he actually took the trouble to draw up this will!

TRENCHARD. That was childish.

EDWARD. I'm the sole executor.

TRENCHARD. So I should think . . Was I down for anything?

EDWARD. No.

TRENCHARD. [_without resentment._] How he did hate me!

EDWARD. You're safe from the results of his affection anyway.

TRENCHARD. What on earth made you stay in the firm once you knew?

EDWARD _does not answer for a moment_.

EDWARD. I thought I might prevent things from getting any worse. I think I did . . well, I should have done that if he'd lived.

TRENCHARD. You knew the risk you were running?

EDWARD. [_bowing his head._] Yes.

TRENCHARD, _the only one of the three who comprehends, looks at his brother for a moment with something that might almost be admiration.

Then he stirs himself._

TRENCHARD. I must be off. Business waiting . . end of term, you know.

BOOTH. Shall I walk to the station with you?

TRENCHARD. I'll spend a few minutes with Mother. [_he says, at the door, very respectfully._] You'll count on my professional a.s.sistance, please, Edward.

EDWARD. [_simply._] Thank you, Trenchard.

_So_ TRENCHARD _goes. And the Major, who has been endeavouring to fathom his final att.i.tude, then comments_--

BOOTH. No heart, y'know! Great brain! If it hadn't been for that distressing quarrel he might have saved our poor father. Don't you think so, Edward?

EDWARD. Perhaps.

HUGH. [_giving vent to his thoughts at last with something of a relish._] The more I think this out, the more devilishly humorous it gets. Old Booth breaking down by the grave . . Colpus reading the service . .

EDWARD. Yes, the Vicar's badly hit.

HUGH. Oh, the Pater had managed his business for years.

BOOTH. Good G.o.d . . how shall we ever look old Booth in the face again?

EDWARD. I don't worry about him; he can die quite comfortably enough on six shillings in the pound. It's one or two of the smaller fry who will suffer.

BOOTH. Now, just explain to me . . I didn't interrupt while Trenchard was talking . . of what exactly did this defrauding consist?

EDWARD. Speculating with a client's capital . . pocketing the gains, cutting the losses; meanwhile paying the client his ordinary income.

BOOTH. So that he didn't find it out?

EDWARD. Quite so.

BOOTH. In point of fact, he doesn't suffer?

EDWARD. He doesn't suffer till he finds it out.

BOOTH. And all that's wrong now is that some of their capital is missing.

EDWARD. [_half amused, half amazed at this process of reasoning._] Yes, that's all that's wrong.

BOOTH. What is the ah--deficit? [_the word rolls from his tongue._]

EDWARD. Anything between two and three hundred thousand pounds.

BOOTH. [_very impressed and not unfavourably._] Dear me . . this is a big affair!

HUGH. [_following his own line of thought._] Quite apart from the rights and wrongs of this, only a very able man could have kept a straight face to the world all these years, as the Pater did.

BOOTH. I suppose he sometimes made money by these speculations.

EDWARD. Very often. His own expenditure was heavy, as you know.

BOOTH. [_with grat.i.tude for favours received._] He was a very generous man.

HUGH. Did n.o.body ever suspect him?

EDWARD. You see, Hugh, when there was any danger . . when a trust had to be wound up . . he'd make a great effort and put the accounts straight.

BOOTH. Then he did put some accounts straight?

EDWARD. Yes, when he couldn't help himself.

BOOTH _looks very enquiring and then squares himself up to the subject_.