CHAPTER IX

An air of subdued but gentle melancholy seemed to be depressing the spirits of both Stephen and George Henry as they partook of their midday meal at their accustomed table in the grillroom at the 'Milan', one morning a week or so later. Things were not going well with them. "Have you, by chance," Stephen asked his brother, as he sipped his Perrier water, with its slice of lemon floating at the top, "glanced at our private drawings account this month?" "I spent a few minutes looking it through this morning," was the…