BONES

IN LONDON

By

EDGAR WALLACE

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED

LONDON AND MELBOURNE

1921

CONTENTS

CHAP. 

 I. --BONES AND BIG BUSINESS II. --HIDDEN TREASURE III. --BONES AND THE WHARFINGERS IV. --THE PLOVER LIGHT CAR V. --A CINEMA PICTURE VI. --A DEAL IN JUTE VII. --DETECTIVE BONES VIII. --A COMPETENT JUDGE OF POETRY IX. --THE LAMP THAT NEVER WENT OUT X. --THE BRANCH LINE XI. --A STUDENT OF MEN XII. --BONES HITS BACK

BONES IN LONDON

CHAPTER I

BONES AND BIG BUSINESS

There was a slump in the shipping market, and men who were otherwisedecent citizens wailed for one hour of glorious war, when Kenyon LineDeferred had stood at 88 1/2, and even so poor an organization asSiddons Steam Packets Line had been marketable at 3 3/8. 

Two bareheaded men came down the busy street, their hands thrust intotheir trousers pockets, their sleek, well-oiled heads bent in dejection. 

No word they spoke, keeping step with the stern precision of soldiers. Together they wheeled through the open doors of the Commercial TrustBuilding, together they left-turned into the elevator, andsimultaneously raised their heads to examine its roof, as though in itspanelled ceiling was concealed some Delphic oracle who would answer theriddle which circumstances had set them. 

They dropped their heads together and stood with sad eyes, regardingthe attendant's leisurely unlatching of the gate. They slipped forthand walked in single file to a suite of offices inscribed "PoleBrothers, Brokers, " and, beneath, "The United Merchant Shippers'Corporation, " and passed through a door which, in addition to thisdeclaration, bore the footnote "Private. "

Here the file divided, one going to one side of a vast pedestal deskand one to the other. Still with their hands pushed deep into theirpockets, they sank, almost as at a word of command, each into hiscushioned chair, and stared at one another across the table. 

They were stout young men of the middle thirties, clean-shaven andruddy. They had served their country in the late War, and had mademany sacrifices to the common cause. One had worn uniform and one hadnot. Joe had occupied some mysterious office which permitted and, indeed, enjoined upon him the wearing of the insignia of captain, buthad forbidden him to leave his native land. The other had earned alittle decoration with a very big title as a buyer of boots for Alliednations. Both had subscribed largely to War Stock, and a reminder oftheir devotion to the cause of liberty was placed to their credit everyhalf-year. 

But for these, war, with its horrific incidents, its late hours, itsmidnight railway journeys by trains on which sleeping berths could notbe had for love or money, its food cards and statements of excessprofits, was past. The present held its tragedy so poignant as toovershadow that breathless terrifying moment when peace had come andfound the firm with the sale of the Fairy Line of cargo steamersuncompleted, contracts unsigned, and shipping stock which had livedlight-headedly in the airy spaces, falling deflated on the floor of thehouse. 

The Fairy Line was not a large line. It was, in truth, a small line. It might have been purchased for two hundred thousand pounds, andnearly was. To-day it might be acquired for one hundred and fiftythousand pounds, and yet it wasn't. 

"Joe, " said the senior Mr. Pole, in a voice that came from hisvarnished boots, "we've got to do something with Fairies. "

"Curse this War!" said Joe in cold-blooded even tones. "Curse theKaiser! A weak-kneed devil who might at least have stuck to it foranother month! Curse him for making America build ships, curse himfor----"

"Joe, " said the stout young man on the other side of the table, shakinghis head sadly, "it is no use cursing, Joe. We knew that they werebuilding ships, but the business looked good to me. If Turkey hadn'tturned up her toes and released all that shipping----"

"Curse Turkey!" said the other, with great calmness. "Curse the Sultanand Enver and Taalat, curse Bulgaria and Ferdinand----"

"Put in one for the Bolsheviks, Joe, " said his brother urgently, "and Ireckon that gets the lot in trouble. Don't start on Austria, or we'llfind ourselves cursing the Jugo-Slavs. "

He sighed deeply, pursed his lips, and looked at his writing-padintently. 

Joe and Fred Pole had many faults, which they freely admitted, such astheir generosity, their reckless kindness of heart, their willingnessto do their worst enemies a good turn, and the like. They had otherswhich they never admitted, but which were none the less patent to theirprejudiced contemporaries. 

But they had virtues which were admirable. They were, for example, absolutely loyal to one another, and were constant in their mutualadmiration and help. If Joe made a bad deal, Fred never rested untilhe had balanced things against the beneficiary. If Fred in a weakmoment paid a higher price to the vendor of a property than he, aspromoter, could afford, it was Joe who took the smug vendor out todinner and, by persuasion, argument, and the frank expression of hisliking for the unfortunate man, tore away a portion of his ill-gottengains. 

"I suppose, " said Joe, concluding his minatory exercises, and reachingfor a cigar from the silver box which stood on the table midway betweenthe two, "I suppose we couldn't hold Billing to his contract. Have youseen Cole about it, Fred?"

The other nodded slowly. 

"Cole says that there is no contract. Billing offered to buy theships, and meant to buy them, undoubtedly; but Cole says that if youtook Billing into court, the judge would chuck his pen in your eye. "

"Would he now?" said Joe, one of whose faults was that he took thingsliterally. "But perhaps if you took Billing out to dinner, Fred----"

"He's a vegetarian, Joe"--he reached in his turn for a cigar, snippedthe end and lit it--"and he's deaf. No, we've got to find a sucker, Joe. I can sell the _Fairy May_ and the _Fairy Belle_: they're littleboats, and are worth money in the open market. I can sell the wharfageand offices and the goodwill----"

"What's the goodwill worth, Fred?"

"About fivepence net, " said the gloomy Fred. "I can sell all these, but it is the _Fairy Mary_ and the _Fairy Tilda_ that's breaking myheart. And yet, Joe, there ain't two ships of their tonnage to bebought on the market. If you wanted two ships of the same size andweight, you couldn't buy 'em for a million--no, you couldn't. I guessthey must be bad ships, Joe. "

Joe had already guessed that. 

"I offered 'em to Saddler, of the White Anchor, " Fred went on, "and hesaid that if he ever started collecting curios he'd remember me. ThenI tried to sell 'em to the Coastal Cargo Line--the very ships for theNewcastle and Thames river trade--and he said he couldn't think of itnow that the submarine season was over. Then I offered 'em to youngTopping, who thinks of running a line to the West Coast, but he saidthat he didn't believe in Fairies or Santa Claus or any of that stuff. "

There was silence. 

"Who named 'em _Fairy Mary_ and _Fairy Tilda_?" asked Joe curiously. 

"Don't let's speak ill of the dead, " begged Fred; "the man who had 'embuilt is no longer with us, Joe. They say that joy doesn't kill, butthat's a lie, Joe. He died two days after we took 'em over, and leftall his money--all our money--to a nephew. "

"I didn't know that, " said Joe, sitting up. 

"I didn't know it myself till the other day, when I took the deed ofsale down to Cole to see if there wasn't a flaw in it somewhere. I'vewired him. "

"Who--Cole?"

"No, the young nephew. If we could only----"

He did not complete his sentence, but there was a common emotion andunderstanding in the two pairs of eyes that met. 

"Who is he--anybody?" asked Joe vaguely. 

Fred broke off the ash of his cigar and nodded. 

"Anybody worth half a million is somebody, Joe, " he said seriously. "This young fellow was in the Army. He's out of it now, running abusiness in the City--'Schemes, Ltd. , ' he calls it. Lots of peopleknow him--shipping people on the Coast. He's got a horrible nickname. "

"What's that, Fred?"

"Bones, " said Fred, in tones sufficiently sepulchral to be appropriate, "and, Joe, he's one of those bones I want to pick. "

There was another office in that great and sorrowful City. It wasperhaps less of an office than a boudoir, for it had been furnished onthe higher plan by a celebrated firm of furnishers and decorators, whose advertisements in the more exclusive publications consisted of aset of royal arms, a photograph of a Queen Anne chair, and the boldsurname of the firm. It was furnished with such exquisite taste thatyou could neither blame nor praise the disposition of a couch or theset of a purple curtain. 

The oxydized silver grate, the Persian carpets, the rosewood desk, withits Venetian glass flower vase, were all in harmony with the panelledwalls, the gentlemanly clock which ticked sedately on the Adammantelpiece, the Sheraton chairs, the silver--or apparently so--wallsconces, the delicate electrolier with its ballet skirts of purple silk. 

All these things were evidence of the careful upbringing and artisticyearnings of the young man who "blended" for the eminent firm ofMessrs. Worrows, By Appointment to the King of Smyrna, His Majesty theEmperor ---- (the blank stands for an exalted name which had beenpainted out by the patriotic management of Worrows), and divers otherroyalties. 

The young man who sat in the exquisite chair, with his boots elevatedto and resting upon the olive-green leather of the rosewoodwriting-table, had long since grown familiar with the magnificence inwhich he moved and had his being. He sat chewing an expensivepaper-knife of ivory, not because he was hungry, but because he wasbored. He had entered into his kingdom brimful of confidence and withunimagined thousands of pounds to his credit in the coffers of theMidland and Somerset Bank. 

He had brought with him a bright blue book, stoutly covered andbrassily locked, on which was inscribed the word "Schemes. "

That book was filled with writing of a most private kind and of afrenzied calculation which sprawled diagonally over pages, as forexample:

 Buy up old houses . . . . . . . . . Say 2, 000 pounds. Pull them down . . . . . . . . . . . Say 500 pounds. Erect erect 50 Grand Flats . . . . . Say 10, 000 pounds. Paper, pante, windows, etc. . . . . Say 1, 000 pounds. ------ Total . . . . . . . . . . . . 12, 000 pounds. 50 Flats let at 80 pounds per annum. 40, 000 lbs. Net profit . . . . . . . . . . . . . Say 50 per cent. 

NOTE. --For good middel class familys steady steady people. By thismeans means doing good turn to working classes solving houseing problemand making money which can be distribbuted distribbutted to the poor. 

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, late of H. M. Houssa Rifles, was, as hisdoorplate testified, the Managing Director of "Schemes, Ltd. " He was asevere looking young man, who wore a gold-rimmed monocle on his greycheck waistcoat and occasionally in his left eye. His face was of thatbrick-red which spoke of a life spent under tropical suns, and whenerect he conveyed a momentary impression of a departed militarism. 

He uncurled his feet from the table, and, picking up a letter, read itthrough aloud--that is to say, he read certain words, skipped others, and substituted private idioms for all he could not or would nottrouble to pronounce. 

"Dear Sir, " (he mumbled), "as old friends of your dear uncle, and so onand so forth, we are taking the first opportunity of making widdlywiddly wee.... Our Mr. Fred Pole will call upon you and place himselfwiddly widdly wee--tum tiddly um tum. --Yours truly. "

Mr. Tibbetts frowned at the letter and struck a bell with unnecessaryviolence. There appeared in the doorway a wonderful man in scarletbreeches and green zouave jacket. On his head was a dull red tarbosh, on his feet scarlet slippers, and about his waist a sash of Orientalaudacity. His face, large and placid, was black, and, for all hissuggestiveness of the brilliant East, he was undoubtedly negroid. 

The costume was one of Mr. Tibbetts's schemes. It was faithfullycopied from one worn by a gentleman of colour who serves the Turkishcoffee at the Wistaria Restaurant. It may be said that there was nospecial reason why an ordinary business man should possess a bodyguardat all, and less reason why he should affect one who had the appearanceof a burlesque Othello, but Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, though a businessman, was not ordinary. 

"Bones"--for such a name he bore without protest in the limited circlesof his friendship--looked up severely. 

"Ali, " he demanded, "have you posted the ledger?"

"Sir, " said Ali, with a profound obeisance, "the article was toocopious for insertion in aperture of collection box, so it wastransferred to the female lady behind postal department counter. "

Bones leapt up, staring. 

"Goodness gracious, Heavens alive, you silly old ass--you--you haven'tposted it--in the post?"

"Sir, " said Ali reproachfully, "you instructed posting volume in exactformula. Therefore I engulfed it in wrappings and ligatures of string, and safely delivered it to posting authority. "

Bones sank back in his chair. 

"It's no use--no use, Ali, " he said sadly, "my poor uncivilized savage, it's not your fault. I shall never bring you up to date, my poor sillyold josser. When I say 'post' the ledger, I mean write down all themoney you've spent on cabs in the stamp book. Goodness gracious alive!You can't run a business without system, Ali! Don't you know that, mydear old image? How the dooce do you think the auditors are to knowhow I spend my jolly old uncle's money if you don't write it down, hey?Posting means writing. Good Heavens"--a horrid thought dawned onhim--"who did you post it to?"

"Lord, " said Ali calmly, "destination of posted volume is yourlordship's private residency. "

All's English education had been secured in the laboratory of anEnglish scientist in Sierra Leone, and long association with thatlearned man had endowed him with a vocabulary at once impressive andrecondite. 

Bones gave a resigned sigh. 

"I'm expecting----" he began, when a silvery bell tinkled. 

It was silvery because the bell was of silver. Bones looked up, pulleddown his waistcoat, smoothed back his hair, fixed his eye-glass, andtook up a long quill pen with a vivid purple feather. 

"Show them in, " he said gruffly. 

"Them" was one well-dressed young man in a shiny silk hat, who, whenadmitted to the inner sanctum, came soberly across the room, balancinghis hat. 

"Ah, Mr. Pole--Mr. Fred Pole. " Bones read the visitor's card with thescowl which he adopted for business hours. "Yes, yes. Be seated, Mr. Pole. I shall not keep you a minute. "

He had been waiting all the morning for Mr. Pole. He had been weavingdreams from the letter-heading above Mr. Pole's letter. 

Ships ... Ships ... House-flags ... Brass-buttoned owners.... 

He waved Mr. Fred to a chair and wrote furiously. This franticpressure of work was a phenomenon which invariably coincided with thearrival of a visitor. It was, I think, partly due to nervousness andpartly to his dislike of strangers. Presently he finished, blotted thepaper, stuck it in an envelope, addressed it, and placed it in hisdrawer. Then he took up the card. 

"Mr. Pole?" he said. 

"Mr. Pole, " repeated that gentleman. 

"Mr. _Fred_ Pole?" asked Bones, with an air of surprise. 

"Mr. Fred Pole, " admitted the other soberly. 

Bones looked from the card to the visitor as though he could notbelieve his eyes. 

"We have a letter from you somewhere, " he said, searching the desk. "Ah, here it is!" (It was, in fact, the only document on the table. )"Yes, yes, to be sure. I'm very glad to meet you. "

He rose, solemnly shook hands, sat down again and coughed. Then hetook up the ivory paper-knife to chew, coughed again as he detected thelapse, and put it down with a bang. 

"I thought I'd like to come along and see you, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Fredin his gentle voice; "we are so to speak, associated in business. "

"Indeed?" said Bones. "In-deed?"

"You see, Mr. Tibbetts, " Fred went on, with a sad smile, "your lamenteduncle, before he went out of business, sold us his ships. He died amonth later. "

He sighed and Bones sighed. 

"Your uncle was a great man, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said, "one of thegreatest business men in this little city. What a man!"

"Ah!" said Bones, shaking his head mournfully. 

He had never met his uncle and had seldom heard of him. Saul Tibbettswas reputedly a miser, and his language was of such violence that theinfant Augustus was invariably hurried to the nursery on such rareoccasions as old Saul paid a family visit. His inheritance had come toBones as in a dream, from the unreality of which he had not yetawakened. 

"I must confess, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Fred, "that I have often hadqualms of conscience about your uncle, and I have been on the point ofcoming round to see you several times. This morning I said to mybrother, 'Joe, ' I said, 'I'm going round to see Tibbetts. ' Forgive thefamiliarity, but we talk of firms like the Rothschilds and the Morganswithout any formality. "

"Naturally, naturally, naturally, " murmured Bones gruffly. 

"I said: 'I'll go and see Tibbetts and get it off my chest. If hewants those ships back at the price we paid for them, or even less, heshall have them. ' 'Fred, ' he said, 'you're too sensitive forbusiness. ' 'Joe, ' I said, 'my conscience works even in businesshours. '"

A light dawned on Bones and he brightened visibly. 

"Ah, yes, my dear old Pole, " he said almost cheerily, "I understand. You diddled my dear old uncle--bless his heart--out of money, and youwant to pay it back. Fred"--Bones rose and extended his knucklyhand--"you're a jolly old sportsman, and you can put it there!"

"What I was going to say----" began Fred seriously agitated. 

"Not a word. We'll have a bottle on this. What will youhave--ginger-beer or cider?"

Mr. Fred suppressed a shudder with difficulty. 

"Wait, wait, Mr. Tibbetts, " he begged; "I think I ought to explain. Wedid not, of course, knowingly rob your uncle----"

"No, no, naturally, " said Bones, with a facial contortion which passedfor a wink. "Certainly not. We business men never rob anybody. Ali, bring the drinks!"

"We did not consciously rob him, " continued Mr. Fred desperately, "butwhat we did do---- ah, this is my confession!"

"You borrowed a bit and didn't pay it back. Ah, naughty!" said Bones. "Out with the corkscrew, Ali. What shall it be--a cream soda ornon-alcoholic ale?"

Mr. Fred looked long and earnestly at the young man. 

"Mr. Tibbetts, " he said, and suddenly grasped the hand of Bones, "Ihope we are going to be friends. I like you. That's my peculiarity--Ilike people or I dislike them. Now that I've told you that we boughttwo ships from your uncle for one hundred and forty thousand poundswhen we knew--yes, positively knew--they were worth at least twentythousand pounds more--now I've told you this, I feel happier. "

"Worth twenty thousand pounds more?" said Bones thoughtfully. Providence was working overtime for him, he thought. 

"Of anybody's money, " said Fred stoutly. "I don't care where you go, my dear chap. Ask Cole--he's the biggest shipping lawyer in thiscity--ask my brother, who, I suppose, is the greatest shippingauthority in the world, or--what's the use of asking 'em?--askyourself. If you're not Saul Tibbetts all over again, if you haven'tthe instinct and the eye and the brain of a shipowner--why, I'm aDutchman! That's what I am--a Dutchman!"

He picked up his hat and his lips were pressed tight--a gesture and agrimace which stood for grim conviction. 

"What are they worth to-day?" asked Bones, after a pause. 

"What are they worth to-day?" Mr. Fred frowned heavily at the ceiling. "Now, what are they worth to-day? I forget how much I've spent on'em--they're in dock now. "

Bones tightened _his_ lips, too. 

"They're in dock now?" he said. He scratched his nose. "Dear old FredPole, " he said, "you're a jolly old soul. By Jove that's not bad!'Pole' an' 'soul' rhyme--did you notice it?"

Fred had noticed it. 

"It's rum, " said Bones, shaking his head, "it is rum how things getabout. How did you know, old fellow-citizen, that I was going in forshippin'?"

Mr. Fred Pole did not know that Bones was going in for shipping, but hesmiled. 

"There are few things that happen in the City that I _don't_ know, " headmitted modestly. 

"The Tibbetts Line, " said Bones firmly, "will fly a house-flag ofpurple and green diagonally--that is, from corner to corner. Therewill be a yellow anchor in a blue wreath in one corner and a capital Tin a red wreath in the other. "

"Original, distinctly original, " said Fred in wondering admiration. "Wherever did you get that idea?"

"I get ideas, " confessed Bones, blushing, "some times in the night, sometimes in the day. The fleet"--Bones liked the sound of the wordand repeated it--"the fleet will consist of the _Augustus_, the_Sanders_--a dear old friend of mine living at Hindhead--the_Patricia_--another dear old friend of mine living at Hindhead, too--infact, in the same house. To tell you the truth, dear old Fred Pole, she's married to the other ship. And there'll be the _Hamilton_, another precious old soul, a very, very, very, very dear friend of minewho's comin' home shortly----"

"Well, what shall we say, Mr. Tibbetts?" said Fred, who had an earlyluncheon appointment. "Would you care to buy the two boats at the sameprice we gave your uncle for them?"

Bones rang his bell. 

"I'm a business man, dear old Fred, " said he soberly. "There's no timelike the present, and I'll fix the matter--_now!_"

He said "now" with a ferociousness which was intended to emphasize hishard and inflexible business character. 

Fred came into the private office of Pole & Pole after lunch that day, and there was in his face a great light and a peace which was almostbeautiful. 

But never beamed the face of Fred so radiantly as the countenance ofthe waiting Joe. He lay back in his chair, his cigar pointing to theceiling. 

"Well, Fred?"--there was an anthem in his voice. 

"Very well, Joe. " Fred hung up his unnecessary umbrella. 

"I've sold the _Fairies_!"

Joe said it and Fred said it. They said it together. There was thesame lilt of triumph in each voice, and both smiles vanished at theidentical instant. 

"_You've_ sold the _Fairies_!" they said. 

They might have been rehearsing this scene for months, so perfect wasthe chorus. 

"Wait a bit, Joe, " said Fred; "let's get the hang of this. Iunderstand that you left the matter to me. "

"I did; but, Fred, I was so keen on the idea I had that I had to nip inbefore you. Of course, I didn't go to him as Pole & Pole----"

"To him? What him?" asked Fred, breathing hard. 

"To What's-his-name--Bones. "

Fred took his blue silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed hisface. 

"Go on, Joe, " he said sadly

"I got him just before he went out to lunch. I sent up the UnitedMerchant Shippers' card--it's our company, anyway. Not a word aboutPole & Pole. "

"Oh, no, of course not!" said Fred. 

"And, my boy, "--this was evidently Joe's greatest achievement, for hedescribed the fact with gusto--"not a word about the names of theships. I just sold him two steamers, so and so tonnage, so and soclassification----"

"For how much?"

Fred was mildly curious. It was the curiosity which led a certainpolitical prisoner to feel the edge of the axe before it beheaded him. 

"A hundred and twenty thousand!" cried Joe joyously. "He's starting afleet, he says. He's calling it the Tibbetts Line, and bought a coupleof ships only this morning. "

Fred examined the ceiling carefully before he spoke. 

"Joe, " he said, "was it a firm deal? Did you put pen to paper?"

"You-bet-your-dear-sweet-life, " said Joe, scornful at the suggestionthat he had omitted such an indispensable part of the negotiation. 

"So did I, Joe, " said Fred. "Those two ships he bought were the two_Fairies_. "

There was a dead silence. 

"Well, " said Joe uneasily, after a while, "we can get a couple ofships----"

"Where, Joe? You admitted yesterday there weren't two boats in theworld on the market. "

Another long silence. 

"I did it for the best, Fred. "

Fred nodded

"Something must be done. We can't sell a man what we haven't got. Joe, couldn't you go and play golf this afternoon whilst I wangle thismatter out?"

Joe nodded and rose solemnly. He took down his umbrella from the pegand his shiny silk hat from another peg, and tiptoed from the room. 

From three o'clock to four Mr. Fred Pole sat immersed in thought, andat last, with a big, heavy sigh, he unlocked his safe, took out hischeque-book and pocketed it. 

Bones was on the point of departure, after a most satisfactory day'swork, when Fred Pole was announced. 

Bones greeted him like unto a brother--caught him by the hand at thevery entrance and, still holding him thus, conducted him to one of hisbeautiful chairs. 

"By Jove, dear old Fred, " he babbled, "it's good of you, oldfellow--really good of you! Business, my jolly old shipowner, waitsfor no man. Ali, my cheque-book!"

"A moment--just a moment, dear Mr. Bones, " begged Fred. "You don'tmind my calling you by the name which is already famous in the City?"

Bones looked dubious. 

"Personally, I prefer Tibbetts, " said Fred. 

"Personally, dear old Fred, so do I, " admitted Bones. 

"I've come on a curious errand, " said Fred in such hollow tones thatBones started. "The fact is, old man, I'm----"

He hung his head, and Bones laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. 

"Anybody is liable to get that way, my jolly old roysterer, " he said. "Speakin' for myself, drink has no effect upon me--due to my jolly oldnerves of iron an' all that sort of thing. "

"I'm ashamed of myself, " said Fred. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of, my poor old toper, " said Bones honestly inerror. "Why, I remember once----"

"As a business man, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Fred bravely, "can you forgivesentiment?"

"Sentiment! Why, you silly old josser, I'm all sentiment, dear oldthing! Why, I simply cry myself to sleep over dear old CharlesWhat's-his-name's books!"

"It's sentiment, " said Fred brokenly. "I just can't--I simply can'tpart with those two ships I sold you. "

"Hey?" said Bones. 

"They were your uncle's, but they have an association for me and mybrother which it would be--er--profane to mention. Mr. Tibbetts, letus cry off our bargain. "

Bones sniffed and rubbed his nose. 

"Business, dear old Fred, " he said gently. "Bear up an' play the man, as dear old Francis Drake said when they stopped him playin' cricket. Business, old friend. I'd like to oblige you, but----"

He shook his head rapidly

Mr. Fred slowly produced his cheque-book and laid it on the desk withthe sigh of one who was about to indite his last wishes. 

"You shall not be the loser, " he said, with a catch in his voice, forhe was genuinely grieved. "I must pay for my weakness. What is fivehundred pounds?"

"What is a thousand, if it comes to that, Freddy?" said Bones. "Gracious goodness, I shall be awfully disappointed if you back out--Ishall be so vexed, really. "

"Seven hundred and fifty?" asked Fred, with pleading in his eye. 

"Make it a thousand, dear old Fred, " said Bones; "I can't add upfifties. "

So "in consideration" (as Fred wrote rapidly and Bones signed morerapidly) "of the sum of one thousand pounds (say £1, 000), the contractas between &c. , &c. , " was cancelled, and Fred became again thepractical man of affairs. 

"Dear old Fred, " said Bones, folding the cheque and sticking it in hispocket, "I'm goin' to own up--frankness is a vice with me--that I don'tunderstand much about the shippin' business. But tell me, my jolly oldmerchant, why do fellers sell you ships in the mornin' an' buy 'em backin the afternoon?"

"Business, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Fred, smiling, "just big business. "

Bones sucked an inky finger. 

"Dinky business for me, dear old thing, " he said. "I've got a thousandfrom you an' a thousand from the other Johnny who sold me two ships. Bless my life an' soul----"

"The other fellow, " said Fred faintly--"a fellow from the UnitedMerchant Shippers?"

"That was the dear lad, " said Bones. 

"And has he cried off his bargain, too?"

"Positively!" said Bones. "A very, very nice, fellow. He told me Icould call him Joe--jolly old Joe!"

"Jolly old Joe!" repeated Fred mechanically, as he left the office, andall the way home he was saying "Jolly old Joe!"

CHAPTER II

HIDDEN TREASURE

Mrs. Staleyborn's first husband was a dreamy Fellow of a LearnedUniversity. 

Her second husband had begun life at the bottom of the ladder as athree-card trickster, and by strict attention to business and theexercise of his natural genius, had attained to the proprietorship of abucket-shop. 

When Mrs. Staleyborn was Miss Clara Smith, she had been housekeeper toProfessor Whitland, a biologist who discovered her indispensability, and was only vaguely aware of the social gulf which yawned between theyoungest son of the late Lord Bortledyne and the only daughter ofAlbert Edward Smith, mechanic. To the Professor she was Miss _H. Sapiens_--an agreeable, featherless plantigrade biped of the genus_Homo_. She was also thoroughly domesticated and cooked like an angel, a nice woman who apparently never knew that her husband had a Christianname, for she called him "Mr. Whitland" to the day of his death. 

The strain and embarrassment of the new relationship with her masterwere intensified by the arrival of a daughter, and doubled when thatdaughter came to a knowledgeable age. Marguerite Whitland had theinherent culture of her father and the grace and delicate beauty whichhad ever distinguished the women of the house of Bortledyne. 

When the Professor died, Mrs. Whitland mourned him in all sincerity. She was also relieved. One-half of the burden which lay upon her hadbeen lifted; the second half was wrestling with the binomial theorem atCheltenham College. 

She had been a widow twelve months when she met Mr. Cresta Morris, and, if the truth be told, Mr. Cresta Morris more fulfilled her conceptionas to what a gentleman should look like than had the Professor. Mr. Cresta Morris wore white collars and beautiful ties, had a large goldwatch-chain over what the French call poetically a _gilet de fantasie_, but which he, in his own homely fashion, described as a "fancy weskit. "He smoked large cigars, was bluff and hearty, spoke to the widow--hewas staying at Harrogate at the time in a hydropathic establishment--ina language which she could understand. Dimly she began to realize thatthe Professor had hardly spoken to her at all. 

Mr. Cresta Morris was one of those individuals who employed avocabulary of a thousand words, with all of which Mrs. Whitland waswell acquainted; he was also a man of means and possessions, heexplained to her. She, giving confidence for confidence, told of thehouse at Cambridge, the furniture, the library, the annuity of threehundred pounds, earmarked for his daughter's education, but mistakenlyleft to his wife for that purpose, also the four thousand three hundredpounds invested in War Stock, which was wholly her own. 

Mr. Cresta Morris became more agreeable than ever. In three monthsthey were married, in six months the old house at Cambridge had beendisposed of, the library dispersed, as much of the furniture as Mr. Morris regarded as old-fashioned sold, and the relict of ProfessorWhitland was installed in a house in Brockley. 

It was a nice house--in many ways nicer than the rambling old buildingin Cambridge, from Mrs. Morris's point of view. And she was happy in atolerable, comfortable kind of fashion, and though she was whollyignorant as to the method by which her husband made his livelihood, shemanaged to get along very well without enlightenment. 

Marguerite was brought back from Cheltenham to grace the newestablishment and assist in its management. She shared none of hermother's illusions as to the character of Mr. Cresta Morris, as thatgentleman explained to a very select audience one January night. 

Mr. Morris and his two guests sat before a roaring fire in thedining-room, drinking hot brandies-and-waters. Mrs. Morris had gone tobed; Marguerite was washing up, for Mrs. Morris had the "servant'smind, " which means that she could never keep a servant. 

The sound of crashing plates had come to the dining-room andinterrupted Mr. Morris at a most important point of his narrative. Hejerked his head round. 

"That's the girl, " he said; "she's going to be a handful. "

"Get her married, " said Job Martin wisely. 

He was a hatchet-faced man with a reputation for common-sense. He hadanother reputation which need not be particularized at the moment. 

"Married?" scoffed Mr. Morris. "Not likely!"

He puffed at his cigar thoughtfully for a moment, then:

"She wouldn't come in to dinner--did you notice that? We are not goodenough for her. She's fly! Fly ain't the word for it. We always findher nosing and sneaking around. "

"Send her back to school, " said the third guest. 

He was a man of fifty-five, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, who hadliterally played many parts, for he had been acting in a touringcompany when Morris first met him--Mr. Timothy Webber, a man notunknown to the Criminal Investigation Department. 

"She might have been useful, " Mr. Morris went on regretfully, "veryuseful indeed. She is as pretty as a picture, I'll give her that due. Now, suppose she----"

Webber shook his head. 

"It's my way or no way, " he said decidedly. "I've been a monthstudying this fellow, and I tell you I know him inside out. "

"Have you been to see him?" asked the second man. 

"Am I a fool?" replied the other roughly. "Of course I have not beento see him. But there are ways of finding out, aren't there? He isnot the kind of lad that you can work with a woman, not if she's aspretty as paint. "

"What do they call him?" asked Morris. 

"Bones, " said Webber, with a little grin. "At least, he has letterswhich start 'Dear Bones, ' so I suppose that's his nickname. But he'sgot all the money in the world. He is full of silly ass schemes, andhe's romantic. "

"What's that to do with it?" asked Job Martin, and Webber turned with adespairing shrug to Morris. 

"For a man who is supposed to have brains----" he said, but Morrisstopped him with a gesture. 

"I see the idea--that's enough. "

He ruminated again, chewing at his cigar, then, with a shake of hishead----

"I wish the girl was in it. "

"Why?" asked Webber curiously. 

"Because she's----" He hesitated. "I don't know what she knows aboutme. I can guess what she guesses. I'd like to get her into somethinglike this, to--to----" He was at a loss for a word. 

"Compromise?" suggested the more erudite Webber. 

"That's the word. I'd like to have her like that!" He put his thumbdown on the table in an expressive gesture. 

Marguerite, standing outside, holding the door-handle hesitating as towhether she should carry in the spirit kettle which Mr. Morris hadordered, stood still and listened. 

The houses in Oakleigh Grove were built in a hurry, and at best werenot particularly sound-proof. She stood fully a quarter of an hourwhilst the three men talked in low tones, and any doubts she might havehad as to the nature of her step-father's business were dispelled. 

Again there began within her the old fight between her loyalty to hermother and loyalty to herself and her own ideals. She had livedthrough purgatory these past twelve months, and again and again she hadresolved to end it all, only to be held by pity for the helpless womanshe would be deserting. She told herself a hundred times that hermother was satisfied in her placid way with the life she was living, and that her departure would be rather a relief than a cause foruneasiness. Now she hesitated no longer, and went back to the kitchen, took off the apron she was wearing, passed along the side-passage, upthe stairs to her room, and began to pack her little bag. 

Her mother was facing stark ruin. This man had drawn into his handsevery penny she possessed, and was utilizing it for the furtherance ofhis own nefarious business. She had an idea--vague as yet, but latertaking definite shape--that if she might not save her mother from thewreck which was inevitable, she might at least save something of herlittle fortune. 

She had "nosed around" to such purpose that she had discovered herstep-father was a man who for years had evaded the grip of anexasperated constabulary. Some day he would fall, and in his fallbring down her mother. 

Mr. Cresta Morris absorbed in the elaboration of the great plan, wasreminded, by the exhaustion of visible refreshment, that certain of hisinstructions had not been carried out. 

"Wait a minute, " he said. "I told that girl to bring in the kettle athalf-past nine. I'll go out and get it. Her royal highness wouldn'tlower herself by bringing it in, I suppose!"

He found the kettle on the kitchen table, but there was no sign ofMarguerite. This was the culmination of a succession of "slights"which she had put on him, and in a rage he walked along the passage, and yelled up the stairs:

"Marguerite!"

There was no reply, and he raced up to her room. It was empty, butwhat was more significant, her dresses and the paraphernalia whichusually ornamented her dressing-table had disappeared. 

He came down a very thoughtful man. 

"She's hopped, " he said laconically. "I was always afraid of that. "

It was fully an hour before he recovered sufficiently to bring his mindto a scheme of such fascinating possibilities that even hisstep-daughter's flight was momentarily forgotten

 * * * * *

On the following morning Mr. Tibbetts received a visitor. 

That gentleman who was, according to the information supplied by Mr. Webber, addressed in intimate correspondence as "Dear Bones, " wassitting in his most gorgeous private office, wrestling with a letter tothe eminent firm of Timmins and Timmins, yacht agents, on a matter of aluckless purchase of his. 

"DEAR SIRS GENENTLEMEN" (ran the letter. Bones wrote as he thought, thought faster than he wrote, and never opened a dictionary save todecide a bet)--"I told you I have told you 100000 times that the yacht_Luana_ I bought from your cleint (a nice cleint I must say!!!) is afrord fruad and a _swindel_. It is much two too big. 2000 pounds wasa swindel outraygious!! Well I've got it got it now so theres theirsno use crying over split milk. But do like a golly old yaght-sellerget red of it rid of it. Sell it to _anybody_ even for a 1000 pounds. I must have been mad to buy it but he was such a plausuble chap.... "

This and more he wrote and was writing, when the silvery bell announceda visitor. It rang many times before he realized that he had sent hisfactotum, Ali Mahomet, to the South Coast to recover from asniffle--the after-effects of a violent cold--which had beenparticularly distressing to both. Four times the bell rang, and fourtimes Bones raised his head and scowled at the door, muttering violentcriticisms of a man who at that moment was eighty-five miles away. 

Then he remembered, leapt up, sprinted to the door, flung it open withan annoyed:

"Come in! What the deuce are you standing out there for?"

Then he stared at his visitor, choked, went very red, choked again, andfixed his monocle. 

"Come in, young miss, come in, " he said gruffly. "Jolly old bell's outof order. Awfully sorry and all that sort of thing. Sit down, won'tyou?"

In the outer office there was no visible chair. The excellent Alipreferred sitting on the floor, and visitors were not encouraged. 

"Come into my office, " said Bones, "my private office. "

The girl had taken him in with one comprehensive glance, and a littlesmile trembled on the corner of her lips as she followed the harassedfinancier into his "holy of holies. "

"My little den, " said Bones incoherently. "Sit down, jolly old--youngmiss. Take my chair--it's the best. Mind how you step over thattelephone wire. Ah!"

She did catch her feet in the flex, and he sprang to her assistance. 

"Upsy, daisy, dear old--young miss, I mean. "

It was a breathless welcome. She herself was startled by the warmth ofit; he, for his part, saw nothing but grey eyes and a perfect mouth, sensed nothing but a delicate fragrance of a godlike presence. 

"I have come to see you----" she began. 

"Jolly good of you, " said Bones enthusiastically. "You've no idea howfearsomely lonely I get sometimes. I often say to people: 'Look me up, dear old thing, any time between ten and twelve or two and four; don'tstand on ceremony----'"

"I've come to see you----" she began again. 

"You're a kind young miss, " murmured Bones, and she laughed. 

"You're not used to having girls in this office, are you?"

"You're the first, " said Bones, with a dramatic flourish, "that everburst tiddly-um-te-um!"

To be mistaken for a welcome visitor--she was that, did she but guessit--added to her natural embarrassment. 

"Well, " she said desperately, "I've come for work. "

He stared at her, refixing his monocle. 

"You've come for work my dear old--my jolly old--young miss?"

"I've come for work, " she nodded. 

Bones's face was very grave. 

"You've come for work. " He thought a moment; then: "What work? Ofcourse, " he added in a flurry, "there's plenty of work to do! Believeme, you don't know the amount I get through in this sanctum--that'sLatin for 'private office'--and the wretched old place is nevertidy--never! I am seriously thinking"--he frowned--"yes, I am veryseriously thinking of sacking the lady who does the dusting. Why, doyou know, this morning----"

Her eyes were smiling now, and she was to Bones's unsophisticated eyes, and, indeed, to eyes sophisticated, superhumanly lovely. 

"I haven't come for a dusting job, " she laughed. 

"Of course you haven't, " said Bones in a panic. "My dear old lady--myprecious--my young person, I should have said--of course you haven't!You've come for a job--you've come to work! Well, you shall have it!Start right away!"

She stared. 

"What shall I do?" she asked. 

"What would I like you to do?" said Bones slowly. "What aboutscheming, getting out ideas, using brains, initiative, bright----" Hetrailed off feebly as she shook her head. 

"Do you want a secretary?" she asked, and Bones's enthusiasm rose tothe squeaking point. 

"The very thing! I advertised in this morning's _Times_. You saw theadvertisement?"

"You are not telling the truth, " she said, looking at him with eyesthat danced. "I read all the advertisement columns in _The Times_ thismorning, and I am quite sure that you did not advertise. "

"I meant to advertise, " said Bones gently. "I had the idea last night;that's the very piece of paper I was writing the advertisement on. "

He pointed to a sheet upon the pad. 

"A secretary? The very thing! Let me think. "

He supported his chin upon one hand, his elbow upon another. 

"You will want paper, pens, and ink--we have all those, " he said. "There is a large supply in that cupboard. Also india-rubber. I amnot sure if we have any india-rubber, but that can be procured. And aruler, " he said, "for drawing straight lines and all that sort ofthing. "

"And a typewriter?" she suggested. 

Bones smacked his forehead with unnecessary violence. 

"A typewriter! I knew this office wanted something. I said to Aliyesterday: 'You silly old ass----'"

"Oh, you have a girl?" she said disappointedly. 

"Ali, " said Bones, "is the name of a native man person who is devotedto me, body and soul. He has been, so to speak, in the family foryears, " he explained. 

"Oh, it's a man, " she said. 

Bones nodded. 

"Ali. Spelt A-l-y; it's Arabic. "

"A native?"

Bones nodded. 

"Of course he will not be in your way, " ha hastened to explain. "He isin Bournemouth just now. He had sniffles. " he explained rapidly, "andthen he used to go to sleep, and snore. I hate people who snore, don'tyou?"

She laughed again. This was the most amazing of all possible employers. 

"Of course, " Bones went on, "I snore a bit myself. All thinkers do--Imean all brainy people. Not being a jolly old snorer yourself----"

"Thank you, " said the girl. 

Other tenants or the satellites of other tenants who occupied thepalatial buildings wherein the office of Bones was situated saw, somefew minutes later, a bare-headed young man dashing down the stairsthree at a time; met him, half an hour later, staggering up those samestairs handicapped by a fifty-pound typewriter in one hand, and a chairin the style of the late Louis Quinze in the other, and wondered at theurgency of his movements. 

"I want to tell you, " said the girl, "that I know very little aboutshorthand. "

"Shorthand is quite unnecessary, my dear--my jolly old stenographer, "said Bones firmly. "I object to shorthand on principle, and I shallalways object to it. If people, " he went on, "were intended to writeshorthand, they would have been born without the alphabet. Anotherthing----"

"One moment, Mr. Tibbetts, " she said. "I don't know a great deal abouttypewriting, either. "

Bones beamed. 

"There I can help you, " he said. "Of course it isn't necessary thatyou should know anything about typewriting. But I can give you a fewhints, " he said. "This thing, when you jiggle it up and down, makesthe thingummy-bob run along. Every time you hit one of theseletters---- I'll show you.... Now, suppose I am writing 'Dear Sir, ' Istart with a 'D. ' Now, where's that jolly old 'D'?" He scowled at thekeyboard, shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders. "I thought so, "he said; "there ain't a 'D. ' I had an idea that that wicked old----"

"Here's the 'D, '" she pointed out. 

Bones spent a strenuous but wholly delightful morning and afternoon. He was half-way home to his chambers in Curzon Street before herealized that he had not fixed the rather important question of salary. He looked forward to another pleasant morning making good that lapse. 

It was his habit to remain late at his office at least three nights aweek, for Bones was absorbed in his new career. 

"Schemes Ltd. " was no meaningless title. Bones had schemes whichembraced every field of industrial, philanthropic, and social activity. He had schemes for building houses, and schemes for planting rose treesalong all the railway tracks. He had schemes for building motor-cars, for founding labour colonies, for harnessing the rise and fall of thetides, he had a scheme for building a theatre where the audience sat ona huge turn-table, and, at the close of one act, could be twistedround, with no inconvenience to themselves, to face a stage which hasbeen set behind them. Piqued by a certain strike which had caused hima great deal of inconvenience, he was engaged one night working out ascheme for the provision of municipal taxicabs, and he was so absorbedin his wholly erroneous calculations that for some time he did not hearthe angry voices raised outside the door of his private office. 

Perhaps it was that that portion of his mind which had been left freeto receive impressions was wholly occupied with a scheme--whichappeared in no books or records--for raising the wages of his newsecretary. 

But presently the noise penetrated even to him, and he looked up with atouch of annoyance. 

"At this hour of the night! ... Goodness gracious ... Respectablebuilding!"

His disjointed comments were interrupted by the sound of a scuffle, anoath, a crash against his door and a groan, and Bones sprang to thedoor and threw it open. 

As he did so a man who was leaning against it fell in. 

"Shut the door, quick!" he gasped, and Bones obeyed. 

The visitor who had so rudely irrupted himself was a man of middle age, wearing a coarse pea-jacket and blue jersey of a seaman, his peaked hatcovered with dust, as Bones perceived later, when the sound ofscurrying footsteps had died away. 

The man was gripping his left arm as if in pain, and a thin trickle ofred was running down the back of his big hand. 

"Sit down, my jolly old mariner, " said Bones anxiously. "What's thematter with you? What's the trouble, dear old sea-dog?"

The man looked up at him with a grimace. 

"They nearly got it, the swine!" he growled. 

He rolled up his sleeve and, deftly tying a handkerchief around a redpatch, chuckled:

"It is only a scratch, " he said. "They've been after me for two days, Harry Weatherall and Jim Curtis. But right's right all the world over. I've suffered enough to get what I've got--starved on the high seas, and starved on Lomo Island. Is it likely that I'm going to let themshare?"

Bones shook his head. 

"You sit down, my dear old fellow, " he said sympathetically. 

The man thrust his hands laboriously into his inside pocket and pulledout a flat oilskin case. From this he extracted a folded and fadedchart. 

"I was coming up to see a gentleman in these buildings, " he said, "agentleman named Tibbetts. "

Bones opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. 

"Me and Jim Curtis and young Harry, we were together in the _SerpentQueen_--my name's Dibbs. That's where we got hold of the yarn aboutLomo Island, though we didn't believe there was anything in it. Butwhen this Dago died----"

"Which Dago?" asked Bones. 

"The Dago that knew all about it, " said Mr. Dibbs impatiently, "and wecome to split up his kit in his mess-bag, I found this. " He shook theoilskin case in Bones's face. "Well, the first thing I did, when I gotto Sydney, was to desert, and I got a chap from Wellington to put upthe money to hire a boat to take me to Lomo. We were wrecked on Lomo. "

"So you got there?" said Bones sympathetically. 

"Six weeks I was on Lomo. Ate nothing but crabs, drank nothing butrain-water. But the stuff was there all right, only"--he was veryemphatic, was this simple old sea-dog--"it wasn't under the third tree, but the fourth tree. I got down to the first of the boxes, and it wasas much as I could do to lift it out. I couldn't trust any of theKanaka boys who were with me. "

"Naturally, " said Bones. "An' I'll bet they didn't trust you, thenaughty old Kanakas. "

"Look here, " said Mr. Dibbs, and he pulled out of his pocket a handfulof gold coins which bore busts of a foreign-looking lady and gentleman. "Spanish gold, that is, " he said. "There was four thousand in thelittle box. I filled both my pockets, and took 'em back to Sydney whenwe were picked up. I didn't dare try in Australia. 'That gold willkeep, ' I says to myself. 'I'll get back to England and find a man whowill put up the money for an expedition'--a gentleman, you understand?"

"I quite understand, " said Bones, all a-quiver with excitement. 

"And then I met Harry and Jim. They said they'd got somebody who wouldput the money up, an American fellow, Rockefeller. Have you ever heardof him?"

"I've heard of him, " said Bones; "he's got a paraffin mine. "

"It may be he has, it may be he hasn't, " said Mr. Dibbs and rose. "Well, sir, I'm very much obliged to you for your kindness. If you'lldirect me to Mr. Tibbetts's office----"

It was a dramatic moment. 

"I am Mr. Tibbetts, " said Bones simply. 

Blank incredulity was on the face of Mr. Dibbs. 

"You?" he said. "But I thought Mr. Tibbetts was an older gentleman?"

"Dear old treasure-finder, " said Bones, "be assured I am Mr. Tibbetts. This is my office, and this is my desk. People think I am olderbecause----" He smiled a little sadly, then: "Sit down!" he thundered. "Let us go into this. "

He went into the matter, and the City clocks were booming one when heled his mariner friend into the street. 

He was late at the office the next morning, because he was young andhealthy and required nine hours of the deepest slumber that Morpheuskept in stock. 

The grey-eyed girl was typing at a very respectable speed the notesBones had given her the evening before. There was a telegram awaitinghim, which he read with satisfaction. Then:

"Leave your work, my young typewriter, " said Bones imperiously. "Ihave a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you! See thatall the doors are closed, " he whispered; "lock 'em if necessary. "

"I hardly think that's necessary, " said the girl. "You see, if anybodycame and found all the doors locked----"

"Idiot!" said Bones, very red. 

"I beg your pardon, " said the startled girl. 

"I was speaking to me, " said Bones rapidly. "This is a matter of thegreatest confidence, my jolly old Marguerite "--he paused, shaking athis temerity, for it was only on the previous day that he haddiscovered her name--"a matter which requires tact and discretion, young Marguerite----"

"You needn't say it twice, " she said. 

"Well once, " said Bones, brightening up. "That's a bargain--I'll callyou Marguerite once a day. Now, dear old Marguerite, listen to this. "

She listened with the greatest interest, jotting down the preliminaryexpenses. Purchase of steamer, five thousand pounds; provisioning ofsame, three thousand pounds, etc. , etc. She even undertook to make acopy of the plan which Mr. Dibbs had given into his charge, and whichBones told her had not left him day nor night. 

"I put it in my pyjama pocket when I went to bed, " he explainedunnecessarily, "and----" He began to pat himself all over, consternation in his face. 

"And you left it in your pyjama pocket, " said the girl quietly. "I'lltelephone to your house for it. "

"Phew!" said Bones. "It seems incredible. I must have been robbed. "

"I don't think so, " said the girl; "it is probably under your pillow. Do you keep your pyjamas under your pillow?"

"That, " said Bones, "is a matter which I never discuss in public. Ihate to disappoint you, dear old Marguerite----"

"I'm sorry, " said the girl, with such a simulation of regret that Bonesdissolved into a splutter of contrition. 

A commissionaire and a taxicab brought the plan, which was discoveredwhere the girl in her wisdom had suggested. 

"I'm not so sure how much money I'm going to make out of this, " saidBones off-handedly, after a thorough and searching examination of theproject. "It is certain to be about three thousand pounds--it may be amillion or two million. It'll be good for you, dear old stenographer. "

She looked at him. 

"I have decided, " said Bones, playing with his paper-knife, "to allowyou a commission of seven and a half per cent. On all profits. Sevenand a half per cent. On two million is, roughly, fifty thousandpounds----"

She laughed her refusal. 

"I like to be fair, " said Bones. 

"You like to be generous, " she corrected him, "and because I am a girl, and pretty----"

"Oh, I say, " protested Bones feebly--"oh, really you are not pretty atall. I am not influenced by your perfectly horrible young face, believe me, dear old Miss Marguerite. Now, I've a sense of fairness, asense of justice----"

"Now, listen to me, Mr. Tibbetts. " She swung her chair round to facehim squarely. "I've got to tell you a little story. "

Bones listened to that story with compressed lips and folded arms. Hewas neither shocked nor amazed, and the girl was surprised. 

"Hold hard, young miss, " he said soberly. "If this is a jolly oldswindle, and if the naughty mariner----"

"His name is Webber, and he is an actor, " she interrupted. 

"And dooced well he acted, " admitted Bones. "Well, if this is so, whatabout the other johnny who's putting up ten thousand to my fifteenthousand?"

This was a facer for the girl, and Bones glared his triumph. 

"That is what the wicked old ship-sailer said. Showed me the money, an' I sent him straight off on the job. He said he'd got a StockExchange person named Morris----"

"Morris!" gasped the girl. "That is my step-father!"

Bones jumped up, a man inspired. 

"The naughty old One, who married your sainted mother?" he gurgled. "My miss! My young an' jolly old Marguerite!"

He sat down at his desk, yanked open the drawer, and slapped down hischeque-book. 

"Three thousand pounds, " he babbled, writing rapidly. "You'd betterkeep it for her, dear old friend of Faust. "

"But I don't understand, " she said, bewildered. 

"Telegram, " said Bones briefly. "Read it. "

She picked up the buff form and read. It was postmarked from Cowes, and ran:

"In accordance your telegraphed instructions, have sold yourschooner-yacht to Mr. Dibbs, who paid cash. Did not give name ofowner. Dibbs did not ask to see boat. All he wanted was receipt formoney. "

"They are calling this afternoon for my fifteen thousand, " said Bones, cackling light-headedly. "Ring up jolly old Scotland Yard, and ask 'emto send me all the police they've got in stock!"

CHAPTER III

BONES AND THE WHARFINGERS

I

The kite wheeling invisible in the blue heavens, the vulture appearingmysteriously from nowhere in the track of the staggering buck, possessqualities which are shared by certain favoured human beings. Nonewspaper announced the fact that there had arrived in the City ofLondon a young man tremendously wealthy and as tremendouslyinexperienced. 

There were no meetings of organized robber gangs, where masked men laidnefarious plans and plots, but the instinct which called the kite tohis quarry and the carrion to the kill brought many strangers--who wereequally strange to Bones and to one another--to the beautiful officewhich he had fitted for himself for the better furtherance of hisbusiness. 

One day a respectable man brought to Mr. Tibbetts a plan of awarehouse. He came like a gale of wind, almost before Bones haddigested the name on the card which announced his existence andidentity. 

His visitor was red-faced and big, and had need to use a handkerchiefto mop his brow and neck at intervals of every few minutes. Hisgeniality was overpowering. 

Before the startled Bones could ask his business, he had put his hatupon one chair, hooked his umbrella on another, and was unrolling, withthat professional tremblement of hand peculiar to all who unroll largestiff sheets of paper, a large coloured plan, a greater portion ofwhich was taken up by the River Thames, as Bones saw at a glance. 

He knew that blue stood for water, and, twisting his neck, he read"Thames. " He therefore gathered that this was the plan of a propertyadjacent to the London river. 

"You're a busy man; and I'm a busy man, " said the stentorian manbreathlessly. "I've just bought this property, and if it doesn'tinterest you I'll eat my hat! My motto is small profits and quickreturns. Keep your money at work, and you won't have to. Do you seewhat I mean?"

"Dear old hurricane, " said Bones feebly, "this is awfully interesting, and all that sort of thing, but would you be so kind as to explain whyand where--why you came in in this perfectly informal manner? Againstall the rules of my office, dear old thing, if you don't mind mesnubbing you a bit. You are sure you aren't hurt?" he asked. 

"Not a bit, not a bit!" bellowed the intruder. "Honest John, Iam--John Staines. You have heard of me?"

"I have, " said Bones, and the visitor was so surprised that he showedit. 

"You have?" he said, not without a hint of incredulity. 

"Yes, " said Bones calmly. "Yes, I have just heard you say it, HonestJohn Staines. Any relation to John o' Gaunt?"

This made the visitor look up sharply. 

"Ha, ha!" he said, his laugh lacking sincerity. "You're a bit of ajoker, Mr. Tibbetts. Now, what do you say to this? This is Stivvins'Wharf and Warehouse. Came into the market on Saturday, and I bought iton Saturday. The only river frontage which is vacant between Greenwichand Gravesend. Stivvins, precious metal refiner, went broke in theWar, as you may have heard. Now, I am a man of few words andadmittedly a speculator. I bought this property for fifteen thousandpounds. Show me a profit of five thousand pounds and it's yours. "

Before Bones could speak, he stopped him with a gesture. 

"Let me tell you this: if you like to sit on that property for a month, you'll make a sheer profit of twenty thousand pounds. You can affordto do it--I can't. I tell you there isn't a vacant wharfage betweenGreenwich and Gravesend, and here you have a warehouse with thirtythousand feet of floor-space, derricks--derrick, named after thehangman of that name: I'll bet you didn't know that?--cranes, everything in---- Well, it's not in apple-pie order, " he admitted, "but it won't take much to make it so. What do you say?"

Bones started violently. 

"Excuse me, old speaker, I was thinking of something else. Do you mindsaying that all over again?"

Honest John Staines swallowed something and repeated his proposition. 

Bones shook his head violently. 

"Nothing doing!" he said. "Wharves and ships--_no!_"

But Honest John was not the kind that accepts refusal without protest. 

"What I'll do, " said he confidentially, "is this: I'll leave the matterfor twenty-four hours in your hands. "

"No, go, my reliable old wharf-seller, " said Bones. "I never go up theriver under any possible circumstances---- By Jove, I've got an idea!"

He brought his knuckly fist down upon the unoffending desk, and HonestJohn watched hopefully. 

"Now, if--yes, it's an idea!"

Bones seized paper, and his long-feathered quill squeaked violently. 

"That's it--a thousand members at ten pounds a year, four hundredbedrooms at, say, ten shillings a night---- How many is four hundredtimes ten shillings multiplied by three hundred and sixty-five? Well, let's say twenty thousand pounds. That's it! A club!"

"A club?" said Honest John blankly. 

"A river club. You said Greenhithe--that's somewhere near Henley, isn't it?"

Honest John sighed. 

"No, sir, " he said gently, "it's in the other direction--toward thesea. "

Bones dropped his pen and pinched his lip in an effort of memory. 

"Is it? Now, where was I thinking about? I know--Maidenhead! Is itnear Maidenhead?"

"It's in the opposite direction from London, " said the perspiring Mr. Staines. 

"Oh!"

Bones's interest evaporated. 

"No good to me, my old speculator. Wharves! Bah!"

He shook his head violently, and Mr. Staines aroused himself. 

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said simply; "I'll leavethe plans with you. I'm going down into the country for a night. Think it over. I'll call to-morrow afternoon. "

Bones still shook his head. 

"No go, nothin' doin'. Finish this palaver, dear old Honesty!"

"Anyway, no harm is done, " urged Mr. Staines. "I ask you, is there anyharm done? You have the option for twenty-four hours. I'll roll theplans up so that they won't be in the way. Good morning!"

He was out of the office door before Bones could as much as deliver thepreamble to the stern refusal he was preparing. 

At three o'clock that afternoon came two visitors. They sent in a cardbearing the name of a very important Woking firm of land agents, andthey themselves were not without dignity of bearing. 

There was a stout gentleman and a thin gentleman, and they tiptoed intothe presence of Bones with a hint of reverence which was notdispleasing. 

"We have come on a rather important matter, " said the thin gentleman. "We understand you have this day purchased Stivvins' Wharf----"

"Staines had no right to sell it?" burst in the stout man explosively. "A dirty mean trick, after all that he promised us! It is just his wayof getting revenge, selling the property to a stranger!"

"Mr. Sole"--the thin gentleman's voice and attitude were eloquent ofreproof--"_please_ restrain yourself! My partner is annoyed, " heexplained "and not without reason. We offered fifty thousand poundsfor Stivvins', and Staines, in sheer malice, has sold theproperty--which is virtually necessary to our client--literally behindour backs. Now, Mr. Tibbetts, are you prepared to make a little profitand transfer the property to us?"

"But----" began Bones. 

"We will give you sixty thousand, " said the explosive man. "Take it orleave it--sixty thousand. "

"But, my dear old Boniface, " protested Bones, "I haven't bought theproperty--really and truly I haven't. Jolly old Staines wanted me tobuy it, but I assure you I didn't. "

The stout man looked at him with glazed eyes, pulled himself together, and suggested huskily:

"Perhaps you will buy it--at his price--and transfer it to us?"

"But why? Nothing to do with me, my old estate agent and auctioneer. Buy it yourself. Good afternoon. _Good_ afternoon!"

He ushered them out in a cloud of genial commonplaces. 

In the street they looked at one another, and then beckoned Mr. Staines, who was waiting on the other side of the road. 

"This fellow is either as wide as Broad Street or he's a babe in arms, "said the explosive man huskily. 

"Didn't he fall?" asked the anxious Staines. 

"Not noticeably, " said the thin man. "This is your scheme, Jack, andif I've dropped four thousand over that wharf, there's going to betrouble. "

Mr. Staines looked very serious. 

"Give him the day, " he begged. "I'll try him to-morrow--I haven't lostfaith in that lad. "

As for Bones, he made an entry in his secret ledger. 

"A person called Stains and two perrsons called Sole Bros. Brotherstryed me with the old Fiddle Trick. You take a Fiddel in a PawnBrokers leave it with him along comes another Felow and pretends its aStadivarious Stradivarious a valuable Fiddel. 2nd Felow offers to payfablous sum pawnbroker says I'll see. When 1st felow comes for hisfiddel pawnbroker buys it at fablous sum to sell it to the 2nd felow. But 2nd felow doesn't turn up. 

"_Note_. --1st Felow called himself Honest John!! I dout if I doughtit. "

Bones finished his entries, locked away his ledger, and crossed thefloor to the door of the outer office. 

He knocked respectfully, and a voice bade him come in. 

It is not usual for the principal of a business to knock respectfullyor otherwise on the door of the outer office, but then it is not usualfor an outer office to house a secretary of such transcendentalqualities, virtue, and beauty as were contained in the person of MissMarguerite Whitland. 

The girl half turned to the door and flashed a smile which was ofwelcome and reproof. 

"Please, Mr. Tibbetts, " she pleaded, "do not knock at my door. Don'tyou realize that it isn't done?"

"Dear old Marguerite, " said Bones solemnly, "a new era has dawned inthe City. As jolly old Confusicus says: 'The moving finger writes, andthat's all about it. ' Will you deign to honour me with your presencein my sanctorum, and may I again beg of you"--he leant his bonyknuckles on the ornate desk which he had provided for her, and lookeddown upon her soberly--"may I again ask you, dear old miss, to let mechange offices? It's a little thing, dear old miss. I'm never, nevergoin' to ask you to dinner again, but this is another matter. I am outof my element in such a place as----" He waved his hand disparaginglytowards his sanctum. "I'm a rough old adventurer, used to sleeping inthe snow--hardships--I can sleep anywhere. "

"Anyway, you're not supposed to sleep in the office, " smiled the girl, rising. 

Bones pushed open the door for her, bowed as she passed, and followedher. He drew a chair up to the desk, and she sat down without furtherprotest, because she had come to know that his attentions, hisextravagant politeness and violent courtesies, signified no more thanwas apparent--namely, that he was a great cavalier at heart. 

"I think you ought to know, " he said gravely, "that an attempt was madethis morning to rob me of umpteen pounds. "

"To rob you?" said the startled girl. 

"To rob me, " said Bones, with relish. "A dastardly plot, happilyfrustrated by the ingenuity of the intended victim. I don't want toboast, dear old miss. Nothing is farther from my thoughts or wishes, but what's more natural when a fellow is offered a----"

He stopped and frowned. 

"Yes?"

"A precious metal refiner's---- That's rum, " said Bones. 

"Rum?" repeated the girl hazily. "What is rum?"

"Of all the rummy old coincidences, " said Bones, with restrained andhollow enthusiasm--"why, only this morning I was reading in _TwiddlyBits_, a ripping little paper, dear old miss---- There's a columncalled 'Things You Ought to Know, ' which is honestly worth thetwopence. "

"I know it, " said the girl curiously. "But what did you read?"

"It was an article called 'Fortunes Made in Old Iron, '" said Bones. "Now, suppose this naughty old refiner---- By Jove, it's an idea!"

He paced the room energetically, changing the aspect of his face withgreat rapidity, as wandering thoughts crowded in upon him and vastpossibilities shook their alluring banners upon the pleasant scene heconjured. Suddenly he pulled himself together, shot out his cuffs, opened and closed all the drawers of his desk as though seekingsomething--he found it where he had left it, hanging on a peg behindthe door, and put it on--and said with great determination andbriskness:

"Stivvins' Wharf, Greenhithe. You will accompany me. Bring yournote-book. It is not necessary to bring a typewriter. I will arrangefor a taxicab. We can do the journey in two hours. "

"But where are you going?" asked the startled girl. 

"To Stivvins'. I am going to look at this place. There is apossibility that certain things have been overlooked. Never lose anopportunity, dear old miss. We magnates make our fortune by neverignoring the little things. "

But still she demurred, being a very sane, intelligent girl, with animagination which produced no more alluring mental picture than a coldand draughty drive, a colder and draughtier and even more depressinginspection of a ruined factory, and such small matters as a lost lunch. 

But Bones was out of the room, in the street, had flung himself upon ahesitant taxi-driver, had bullied and cajoled him to take a monstrousand undreamt-of journey for a man who, by his own admission, had onlysufficient petrol to get his taxi home, and when the girl came down shefound Bones, with his arm entwined through the open window of the door, giving explicit instructions as to the point on the river whereStivvins' Wharf was to be found. 

II

Bones returned to his office alone. The hour was six-thirty, and hewas a very quiet and thoughtful young man. He almost tiptoed into hisoffice, closed and locked the door behind him, and sat at his desk withhis head in his hands for the greater part of half an hour. 

Then he unrolled the plan of the wharf, hoping that his memory had notplayed him false. Happily it had not. On the bottom right-hand cornerMr. Staines had written his address! "Stamford Hotel, Blackfriars. "

Bones pulled a telegraph form from his stationery rack and indited anurgent wire. 

Mr. Staines, at the moment of receiving that telegram, was sitting at asmall round table in the bar of The Stamford, listening in silence tocertain opinions which were being expressed by his two companions inarms and partners in misfortune, the same opinions relating in a mostdisparaging manner to the genius, the foresight, and the constructiveability of one who in his exuberant moments described himself as HonestJohn. 

The explosive gentleman had just concluded a fanciful picture of whatwould happen to Honest John if he came into competition with theaverage Bermondsey child of tender years. 

Honest John took the telegram and opened it. He read it and gasped. He stood up and walked to the light, and read it again, then returned, his eyes shining, his face slightly flushed. 

"You're clever, ain't you?" he asked. "You're wise--I don't think!Look at this!"

He handed the telegram to the nearest of his companions, who was thetall, thin, and non-explosive partner, and he in turn passed it withouta word to his more choleric companion. 

"You don't mean to say he's going to buy it?"

"That's what it says, doesn't it?" said the triumphant Mr. Staines. 

"It's a catch, " said the explosive man suspiciously. 

"Not on your life, " replied the scornful Staines. "Where does thecatch come in? We've done nothing he could catch us for?"

"Let's have a look at that telegram again, " said the thin man, and, having read it in a dazed way, remarked: "He'll wait for you at theoffice until nine. Well, Jack, nip up and fix that deal. Take thetransfers with you. Close it and take his cheque. Take anything he'llgive you, and get a special clearance in the morning, and, anyway, thebusiness is straight. "

Honest John breathed heavily through his nose and staggered from thebar, and the suspicious glances of the barman were, for once, unjustified, for Mr. Staines was labouring under acute emotions. 

He found Bones sitting at his desk, a very silent, taciturn Bones, whogreeted him with a nod. 

"Sit down, " said Bones. "I'll take that property. Here's my cheque. "

With trembling fingers Mr. Staines prepared the transfers. It was hewho scoured the office corridors to discover two agitated char-ladieswho were prepared to witness his signature for a consideration. 

He folded the cheque for twenty thousand pounds reverently and put itinto his pocket, and was back again at the Stamford Hotel so quicklythat his companions could not believe their eyes. 

"Well, this is the rummiest go I have ever known, " said the explosiveman profoundly. "You don't think he expects us to call in the morningand buy it back, do you?"

Staines shook his head. 

"I know he doesn't, " he said grimly. "In fact, he as good as told methat that business of buying a property back was a fake. "

The thin man whistled. 

"The devil he did! Then what made him buy it?"

"He's been there. He mentioned he had seen the property, " saidStaines. And then, as an idea occurred to them all simultaneously, they looked at one another. 

The stout Mr. Sole pulled a big watch from his pocket. 

"There's a caretaker at Stivvins', isn't there?" he said. "Let's godown and see what has happened. "

Stivvins' Wharf was difficult of approach by night. It lay off themain Woolwich Road, at the back of another block of factories, and toreach its dilapidated entrance gates involved an adventurous marchthrough a number of miniature shell craters. Night, however, wasmerciful in that it hid the desolation which is called Stivvins' fromthe fastidious eye of man. Mr. Sole, who was not aesthetic and by nomeans poetical, admitted that Stivvins' gave him the hump. 

It was ten o'clock by the time they had reached the wharf, andhalf-past ten before their hammering on the gate aroused the attentionof the night-watchman--who was also the day-watchman--who occupied whathad been in former days the weigh-house, which he had converted into aweatherproof lodging. 

"Hullo!" he said huskily. "I was asleep. "

He recognized Mr. Sole, and led the way to his little bunk-house. 

"Look here, Tester, " said Sole, who had appointed the man, "did a youngswell come down here to-day?"

"He did, " said Mr. Tester, "and a young lady. They gave Mr. Staines'sname, and asked to be showed round, and, " he added, "I showed 'emround. "

"Well, what happened?" asked Staines. 

"Well, " said the man, "I took 'em in the factory, in the big building, and then this young fellow asked to see the place where the metal waskept. "

"What metal?" asked three voices at one and the same time. 

"That's what I asked, " said Mr. Tester, with satisfaction. "I told 'emStivvins dealt with all kinds of metal, so the gent says: 'What aboutgold?'"

"What about gold?" repeated Mr. Staines thoughtfully. "And what didyou say?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, " explained Tester, "I happen to know thisplace, living in the neighbourhood, and I used to work here about eightyears ago, so I took 'em down to the vault. "

"To the vault?" said Mr. Staines. "I didn't know there was a vault. "

"It's under the main office. You must have seen the place, " saidTester. "There's a big steel door with a key in it--at least, therewas a key in it, but this young fellow took it away with him. "

Staines gripped his nearest companion in sin, and demanded huskily:

"Did they find anything in--in the vault?"

"Blessed if I know!" said the cheerful Tester, never dreaming that hewas falling very short of the faith which at that moment, and only atthat moment, had been reposed in him. "They just went in. I've neverbeen inside the place myself. "

"And you stood outside, like a--a----"

"Blinking image!" said the explosive companion. 

"You stood outside like a blinking image, and didn't attempt to go in, and see what they were looking at?" said Mr. Staines heatedly. "Howlong were they there?"

"About ten minutes. "

"And then they came out?"

Tester nodded. 

"Did they bring anything out with them?"

"Nothing, " said Mr. Tester emphatically. 

"Did this fellow--what's his name?--look surprised or upset?" persistedthe cross-examining Honest John. 

"He was a bit upset, now you come to mention it, agitated like, yes, "said Tester, reviewing the circumstances in a new light. "His 'andwas, so to speak, shaking. "

"Merciful Moses!" This pious ejaculation was from Mr. Staines. "Hetook away the key, you say. And what are you supposed to be here for?"asked Mr. Staines violently. "You allow this fellow to come and takeour property away. Where is the place?"

Tester led the way across the littered yard, explaining en route thathe was fed up, and why he was fed up, and what they could do to fillthe vacancy which would undoubtedly occur the next day, and where theycould go to, so far as he was concerned, and so, unlocking one rustylock after another, passed through dark and desolate offices, full ofsqueaks and scampers, down a short flight of stone steps to a mostuncompromising steel door at which they could only gaze. 

III

Bones was at his office early the following rooming, but he was notearlier than Mr. Staines, who literally followed him into his officeand slammed down a slip of paper under his astonished and gloomy eye. 

"Hey, hey, what's this?" said Bones irritably. "What the dooce isthis, my wicked old fiddle fellow?"

"Your cheque, " said Mr. Staines firmly. "And I'll trouble you for thekey of our strong-room. "

"The key of your strong-room?" repeated Bones. "Didn't I buy thisproperty?"

"You did and you didn't. To cut a long story short, Mr. Tibbetts, Ihave decided not to sell--in fact, I find that I have done an illegalthing in selling at all. "

Bones shrugged his shoulders. Remember that he had slept, orhalf-slept, for some nine hours, and possibly his views had undergone achange. What he would have done is problematical, because at thatmoment the radiant Miss Whitland passed into her office, and Bones'sacute ear heard the snap of her door. 

"One moment, " he said gruffly, "one moment, old Honesty. "

He strode through the door which separated the private from the publicportion of his suite, and Mr. Staines listened. He listened at varyingdistances from the door, and in his last position it would haverequired the most delicate of scientific instruments to measure thedistance between his ear and the keyhole. He heard nothing save thewail of a Bones distraught, and the firm "No's" of a self-possessedfemale. 

Then, after a heart-breaking silence Bones strode out, and Mr. Stainesdid a rapid sprint, so that he might be found standing in an attitudeof indifference and thought near the desk. The lips of Bones weretight and compressed. He opened the drawer, pulled out the transfers, tossed them across to Mr. Staines. 

"Key, " said Bones, chucking it down after the document. 

He picked up his cheque and tore it into twenty pieces. 

"That's all, " said Bones, and Mr. Staines beat a tremulous retreat. 

When the man had gone, Bones returned to the girl who was sitting ather table before her typewriter. It was observable that her lips werecompressed too. 

"Young Miss Whitland, " said Bones, and his voice was hoarser than ever, "never, never in my life will I ever forgive myself!"

"Oh, please, Mr. Tibbetts, " said the girl a little wearily, "haven't Itold you that I have forgiven you? And I am sure you had no horridthought in your mind, and that you just acted impulsively. "

Bones bowed his head, at once a sign of agreement and a crushed spirit. 

"The fact remains, dear old miss, " he said brokenly, "that I did kissyou in that beastly old private vault. I don't know what made me doit, " he gulped, "but I did it. Believe me, young miss, that spot wassacred. I wanted to buy the building to preserve it for all time, sothat no naughty old foot should tread upon that hallowed ground. Youthink that's nonsense!"

"Mr. Tibbetts. "

"Nonsense, I say, romantic and all that sort of rot. " Bones threw outhis arms. "I must agree with you. But, believe me, Stivvins' Wharf ishallowed ground, and I deeply regret that you would not let me buy itand turn it over to the jolly old Public Trustee or one of thosejohnnies.... You do forgive me?"

She laughed up in his face, and then Bones laughed, and they laughedtogether. 

CHAPTER IV

THE PLOVER LIGHT CAR

The door of the private office opened and after a moment closed. Itwas, in fact, the private door of the private office, reservedexclusively for the use of the Managing Director of Schemes Limited. Nevertheless, a certain person had been granted the privilege ofingress and egress through that sacred portal, and Mr. Tibbetts, ycleptBones, crouching over his desk, the ferocity of his countenanceintensified by the monocle which was screwed into his eye, and theterrific importance of his correspondence revealed by his disorderedhair and the red tongue that followed the movements of his pen, did notlook up. 

"Put it down, put it down, young miss, " he murmured, "on the table, onthe floor, anywhere. "

There was no answer, and suddenly Bones paused and scowled at thehalf-written sheet before him. 

"That doesn't look right. " He shook his head. "I don't know what'scoming over me. Do you spell 'cynical' with one 'k' or two?"

Bones looked up. 

He saw a brown-faced man, with laughing grey eyes, a tall man in a longovercoat, carrying a grey silk hat in his hand. 

"Pardon me, my jolly old intruder, " said Bones with dignity, "this is aprivate----" Then his jaw dropped and he leant on the desk forsupport. "Not my---- Good heavens!" he squeaked, and then leaptacross the room, carrying with him the flex of his table lamp, whichfell crashing to the floor. 

"Ham, you poisonous old reptile!" He seized the other's hand in hisbony paw, prancing up and down, muttering incoherently. 

"Sit down, my jolly old Captain. Let me take your overcoat. Well!Well! Well! Give me your hat, dear old thing--dear old Captain, Imean. This is simply wonderful! This is one of the most amazin'experiences I've ever had, my dear old sportsman and officer. How longhave you been home? How did you leave the Territory? Good heavens!We must have a bottle on this!"

"Sit down, you noisy devil, " said Hamilton, pushing his erstwhilesubordinate into a chair, and pulling up another to face him. 

"So this is your boudoir!" He glanced round admiringly. "It looksrather like the waiting-room of a _couturière_. "

"My dear old thing, " said the shocked Bones, "I beg you, if you please, remember, remember----" He lowered his voice, and the last word was ina hoarse whisper, accompanied by many winks, nods, and pointings at andto a door which led from the inner office apparently to the outer. "There's a person, dear old man of the world--a young person--wellbrought up----"

"What the----" began Hamilton. 

"Don't be peeved!" Bones's knowledge of French was of the haziest. "Remember, dear old thing, " he said solemnly, wagging his inkyforefinger, "as an employer of labour, I must protect the young an'innocent, my jolly old skipper. "

Hamilton looked round for a missile, and could find nothing better thana crystal paper-weight, which looked too valuable to risk. 

"'_Couturière_, '" he said acidly, "is French for 'dressmaker. '"

"French, " said Bones, "is a language which I have always carefullyavoided. I will say no more--you mean well, Ham. "

Thereafter followed a volley of inquiries, punctuated at intervals bygenial ceremony, for Bones would rise from his chair, walk solemnlyround the desk, and as solemnly shake hands with his former superior. 

"Now, Bones, " said Hamilton at last, "will you tell me what you aredoing?"

Bones shrugged his shoulders. 

"Business, " he said briefly. "A deal now and again, dear old officer. Make a thousand or so one week, lose a hundred or so the next. "

"But what are you doing?" persisted Hamilton. 

Again Bones shrugged, but with more emphasis. 

"I suppose, " he confessed, with a show of self-deprecation which hissmugness belied, "I suppose I am one of those jolly old spiders who sitin the centre of my web, or one of those perfectly dinky little tigerswho sit in my jolly old lair, waiting for victims. 

"Of course, it's cruel sport"--he shrugged again, toying with his ivorypaper-knife--"but one must live. In the City one preys upon otherones. "

"Do the other ones do any preying at all?" asked Hamilton. 

Up went Bones's eyebrows. 

"They try, " he said tersely, and with compressed lips. "Last week afellow tried to sell me his gramophone, but I had a look at it. As Isuspected, it had no needle. A gramophone without a needle, " saidBones, "as you probably know, my dear old musical one, is whollyuseless. "

"But you can buy them at a bob a box, " said Hamilton. 

Bones's face fell. 

"Can you really?" he demanded. "You are not pulling my leg, oranything? That's what the other fellow said. I do a little gambling, "Bones went on, "not on the Stock Exchange or on the race-course, youunderstand, but in Exchanges. "

"Money Exchanges?"

Bones bowed his head. 

"For example, " he said, "to-day a pound is worth thirty-two francs, to-morrow it is worth thirty-four francs. To-day a pound is worth fourdollars seventy-seven----"

"As a matter of fact, it is three dollars ninety-seven, " interruptedHamilton. 

"Ninety-seven or seventy-seven, " said Bones irritably, "what is fourshillings to men like you or me, Hamilton? We can well afford it. "

"My dear chap, " said Hamilton, pardonably annoyed, "there is adifference of four shillings between your estimate and the rate. "

"What is four shillings to you or me?" asked Bones again, shaking hishead solemnly. "My dear old Ham, don't be mean. "

There was a discreet tap on the door, and Bones rose with everyevidence of agitation. 

"Don't stir, dear old thing, " he pleaded in a husky whisper. "Pretendnot to notice, dear old Ham. Don't be nervous--wonderful younglady----"

Then, clearing his throat noisily, "Come in!" he roared in the tonethat a hungry lion might have applied to one of the early Christianmartyrs who was knocking by mistake on the door of his den. 

In spite of all injunctions, Hamilton did look, and he did stare, andhe did take a great deal of notice, for the girl who came in was wellworth looking at. He judged her to be about the age of twenty-one. "Pretty" would be too feeble a word to employ in describing her. Therusset-brown hair, dressed low over her forehead, emphasized theloveliness of eyes set wide apart and holding in their clear depths allthe magic and mystery of womanhood. 

She was dressed neatly. He observed, too, that she had an open bookunder her arm and a pencil in her hand, and it dawned upon him slowlythat this radiant creature was--Bones's secretary!

Bones's secretary!

He stared at Bones, and that young man, very red in the face, avoidedhis eye. 

Bones was standing by the desk, in the attitude of an after-dinnerspeaker who was stuck for the right word. In moments of extremeagitation Bones's voice became either a growl or a squeak--the bottomregister was now in exercise. 

"Did--did you want me, young miss?" he demanded gruffly. 

The girl at the door hesitated. 

"I'm sorry--I didn't know you were engaged. I wanted to see you aboutthe Abyssinian----"

"Come in, come in, certainly, " said Bones more gruffly than ever. "Anew complication, young miss?"

She laid a paper on the desk, taking no more notice of Hamilton than ifhe were an ornament on the chimney-piece. 

"The first instalment of the purchase price is due to-day, " she said. 

"Is it?" said Bones, with his extravagant surprise. "Are you certain, young miss? This day of all days--and it's a Thursday, too, " he addedunnecessarily. 

The girl smiled and curled her lip, but only for a second. 

"Well, well, " said Bones, "it's a matter of serious importance. Thecheque, jolly old young miss, we will sign it and you will send it off. Make it out for the full amount----"

"For the three thousand pounds?" said the girl. 

"For the three thousand pounds, " repeated Bones soberly. He put in hismonocle and glared at her. "For the three thousand pounds, " herepeated. 

She stood waiting, and Bones stood waiting, he in some embarrassment asto the method by which the interview might be terminated and hissecretary dismissed without any wound to her feelings. 

"Don't you think to-morrow would do for the cheque?" she asked. 

"Certainly, certainly, " said Bones. "Why not? To-morrow's Friday, ain't it?"

She inclined her head and walked out of the room, and Bones cleared histhroat once more. 

"Bones----"

The young man turned to meet Hamilton's accusing eye. 

"Bones, " said Hamilton gently, "who is the lady?"

"Who is the lady?" repeated Bones, with a cough. "The lady is mysecretary, dear old inquisitor. "

"So I gather, " said Hamilton. 

"She is my secretary, " repeated Bones. "An extremely sensible youngwoman, extremely sensible. "

"Don't be silly, " said Hamilton. "Plenty of people are sensible. Whenyou talk about sensible young women, you mean plain young women. "

"That's true, " said Bones; "I never thought of that. What a naughtyold mind you have, Ham. "

He seemed inclined to change the subject. 

"And now, dear old son, " said Bones, with a brisk return to hiswhat-can-I-do-for-you air, "to business! You've come, dear old thing, to consult me. "

"You're surprisingly right, " said Hamilton. 

"Well, " said Bones, trying three drawers of his desk before he couldfind one that opened, "have a cigar, and let us talk. "

Hamilton took the proffered weed and eyed it suspiciously. 

"Is this one that was given to you, or one that you bought?" hedemanded. 

"That, my jolly old officer, " said Bones, "is part of a job lot that Ibought pretty cheap. I've got a rare nose for a bargain----"

"Have you a rare nose for a cigar, that's the point?" asked Hamilton, as he cut off the end and lit it gingerly. 

"Would I give you a bad cigar?" asked the indignant Bones. "A gallantold returned warrior, comrade of my youth, and all that sort of thing!My dear old Ham!"

"I'll tell you in a minute, " said Hamilton, and took two draws. 

Bones, who was no cigar smoker, watched the proceedings anxiously. Hamilton put the cigar down very gently on the corner of the desk. 

"Do you mind if I finish this when nobody's looking?" he asked. 

"Isn't it all right?" asked Bones. "Gracious heavens! I paid fiftyshillings a hundred for those! Don't say I've been done. "

"I don't see how you could be done at that price, " said Hamilton, andbrushed the cigar gently into the fireplace. "Yes, I have come toconsult you, Bones, " he went on. "Do you remember some eight monthsago I wrote to you telling you that I had been offered shares in amotor-car company?"

Bones had a dim recollection that something of the sort had occurred, and nodded gravely. 

"It seemed a pretty good offer to me, " said Hamilton reflectively. "You remember I told you there was a managership attached to theholding of the shares?"

Bones shifted uneasily in his chair, sensing a reproach. 

"My dear old fellow----" he began feebly. 

"Wait a bit, " said Hamilton. "I wrote to you and asked you youradvice. You wrote back, telling me to have nothing whatever to do withthe Plover Light Car Company. "

"Did I?" said Bones. "Well, my impression was that I advised you toget into it as quickly as you possibly could. Have you my letter, dearold thing?"

"I haven't, " said Hamilton. 

"Ah, " said Bones triumphantly, "there you are! You jolly old rascal, you are accusing me of putting you off----"

"Will you wait, you talkative devil?" said Hamilton. "I pointed out toyou that the prospects were very alluring. The Company was floatedwith a small capital----"

Again Bones interrupted, and this time by rising and walking solemnlyround the table to shake hands with him. 

"Hamilton, dear old skipper, " he pleaded. "I was a very busy man atthat time. I admit I made a mistake, and possibly diddled you out of afortune. But my intention was to write to you and tell you to get intoit, and how I ever came to tell you _not_ to get into it--well, my poorold speculator, I haven't the slightest idea!"

"The Company----" began Hamilton. 

"I know, I know, " said Bones, shaking his head sadly and fixing hismonocle--a proceeding rendered all the more difficult by the fact thathis hand never quite overtook his face. "It was an error on my part, dear old thing. I know the Company well. Makes a huge profit! Youcan see the car all over the town. I think the jolly old Partridge----"

"Plover, " said Hamilton. 

"Plover, I mean. They've got another kind of car called thePartridge, " explained Bones. "Why, it's one of the best in the market. I thought of buying one myself. And to think that I put you off thatCompany! Tut, tut! Anyway, dear old man, " he said, brightening up, "most of the good fish is in the sea, and it only goes bad when itcomes out of the sea. Have you ever noticed that, my dear oldnaturalist?"

"Wait a moment. Will you be quiet?" said the weary Hamilton. "I'mtrying to tell you my experiences. I put the money--four thousandpounds--into this infernal Company. 

"Eh?"

"I put the money into the Company, I tell you, against your advice. The Company is more or less a swindle. "

Bones sat down slowly in his chair and assumed his most solemn andbusiness-like face. 

"Of course, it keeps within the law, but it's a swindle, none the less. They've got a wretched broken-down factory somewhere in the North, andthe only Plover car that's ever been built was made by a Scottishcontractor at a cost of about twice the amount which the Company peoplesaid that they would charge for it. "

"What did I say?" said Bones quietly. "Poor old soul, I do not giveadvice without considering matters, especially to my dearest friend. Acompany like this is obviously a swindle. You can tell by theappearance of the cars----"

"There was only one car ever made, " interrupted Hamilton. 

"I should have said car, " said the unperturbed Bones. "The veryappearance of it shows you that the thing is a swindle from beginningto end. Oh, why did you go against my advice, dear old Ham? Why didyou?"

"You humbug!" said the wrathful Hamilton. "You were just this minuteapologising for giving me advice. "

"That, " said Bones cheerfully, "was before I'd heard your story. Yes, Ham, you've been swindled. " He thought a moment. "Four thousandpounds!"

And his jaw dropped. 

Bones had been dealing in large sums of late, and had forgotten justthe significance of four thousand pounds to a young officer. He wastoo much of a little gentleman to put his thoughts into words, but itcame upon him like a flash that the money which Hamilton had investedin the Plover Light Car Company was every penny he possessed in theworld, a little legacy he had received just before Bones had left theCoast, plus all his savings for years. 

"Ham, " he said hollowly, "I am a jolly old rotter! Here I've beenbluffing and swanking to you when I ought to have been thinking out away of getting things right. "

Hamilton laughed. 

"I'm afraid you're not going to get things right, Bones, " he said. "The only thing I did think was that you might possibly know somethingabout this firm. "

At any other moment Bones would have claimed an extensive acquaintancewith the firm and its working, but now he shook his head, and Hamiltonsighed. 

"Sanders told me to come up and see you, " he said. "Sanders has greatfaith in you, Bones. "

Bones went very red, coughed, picked up his long-plumed pen and put itdown again. 

"At any rate, " said Hamilton, "you know enough about the City to tellme this--is there any chance of my getting this money back?"

Bones rose jerkily. 

"Ham, " he said, and Hamilton sensed a tremendous sincerity in hisvoice, "that money's going to come back to you, or the name of AugustusTibbetts goes down in the jolly old records as a failure. "

A minute later Captain Hamilton found himself hand-shook from the room. Here for Bones was a great occasion. With both elbows on the desk, andtwo hands searching his hair, he sat worrying out what he afterwardsadmitted was the most difficult problem that ever confronted him. 

After half an hour's hair-pulling he went slowly across his beautifulroom and knocked discreetly on the door of the outer office. 

Miss Marguerite Whitland had long since grown weary of begging him todrop this practice. She found it a simple matter to say "Come in!" andBones entered, closing the door behind him, and stood in a deferentialattitude two paces from the closed door. 

"Young miss, " he said quietly, "may I consult you?"

"You may even consult me, " she said as gravely. 

"It is a very curious problem, dear old Marguerite, " said Bones in alow, hushed tone. "It concerns the future of my very dearestfriend--the very dearest friend in all the world, " he saidemphatically, "of the male sex, " he added hastily. "Of course, friendships between jolly old officers are on a different plane, if youunderstand me, to friendships between--I mean to say, dear old thing, I'm not being personal or drawing comparisons, because the feeling Ihave for you----"

Here his eloquence ran dry. She knew him now well enough to be neitherconfused nor annoyed nor alarmed when Bones broke forth into anexposition of his private feelings. Very calmly she returned theconversation to the rails. 

"It is a matter which concerns a very dear friend of yours, " she saidsuggestively, and Bones nodded and beamed. 

"Of course you guessed that, " he said admiringly. "You're the jolliestold typewriter that ever lived! I don't suppose any other young womanin London would have----"

"Oh, yes, they would, " she said. "You'd already told me. I supposethat you've forgotten it. "

"Well, to cut a long story short, dear old Miss Marguerite, " saidBones, leaning confidentially on the table and talking down into herupturned lace, "I must find the whereabouts of a certain rascal orrascals, trading or masquerading, knowingly or unknowingly, to the bestof my knowledge and belief, as the----" He stopped and frowned. "Now, what the dickens was the name of that bird?" he said. "Pheasant, partridge, ostrich, bat, flying fish, sparrow--it's something to dowith eggs. What are the eggs you eat?"

"I seldom eat eggs, " said the girl quietly, "but when I do they are theeggs of the common domestic fowl. "

"It ain't him, " said Bones, shaking his head. "No, it's--I've gotit--Plover--the Plover Light Car Company. "

The girl made a note on her pad. 

"I want you to get the best men in London to search out this Company. If necessary, get two private detectives, or even three. Set them towork at once, and spare no expense. I want to know who's running thecompany--I'd investigate the matter myself, but I'm so fearfullybusy--and where their offices are. Tell the detectives, " said Bones, warming to the subject, "to hang around the motor-car shops in the WestEnd. They're bound to hear a word dropped here and there, and----"

"I quite understand, " said the girl. 

Bones put out his lean paw and solemnly shook the girl's hand. 

"If, " he said, with a tremble in his voice, "if there's a typewriter inLondon that knows more than you, my jolly old Marguerite, I'll eat myhead. "

On which lines he made his exit. 

Five minutes later the girl came into the office with a slip of paper. 

"The Plover Motor Car Company is registered at 604, GracechurchStreet, " she said. "It has a capital of eighty thousand pounds, ofwhich forty thousand pounds is paid up. It has works at Kenwood, inthe north-west of London, and the managing director is Mr. Charles O. Soames. "

Bones could only look at her open-mouthed. 

"Where on earth did you discover all this surprising information, dearmiss?" he asked, and the girl laughed quietly. 

"I can even tell you their telephone number, " she said, "because ithappens to be in the Telephone Book. The rest I found in the StockExchange Year Book. "

Bones shook his head in silent admiration. 

"If there's a typewriter in London----" he began, but she had fled. 

An hour later Bones had evolved his magnificent idea. It was an ideaworthy of his big, generous heart and his amazing optimism. 

Mr. Charles O. Soames, who sat at a littered table in hisshirt-sleeves, was a man with a big shock of hair and large and heavilydrooping moustache, and a black chin. He smoked a big, heavy pipe, and, at the moment Bones was announced, his busy pencil was callinginto life a new company offering the most amazing prospects to theyoung and wealthy. 

He took the card from the hands of his very plain typist, andsuppressed the howl of joy which rose to his throat. For the name ofBones was known in the City of London, and it was the dream of such menas Charles O. Soames that one day they would walk from the office ofMr. Augustus Tibbetts with large parcels of his paper currency undereach arm. 

He jumped up from his chair and slipped on a coat, pushed theprospectus he was writing under a heap of documents--one at least ofwhich bore a striking family likeness to a county court writ--andwelcomed his visitor decorously and even profoundly. 

"In _re_ Plover Car, " said Bones briskly. He prided himself uponcoming to the point with the least possible delay. 

The face of Mr. Soames fell. 

"Oh, you want to buy a car?" he said. He might have truly said "thecar, " but under the circumstances he thought that this would betactless. 

"No, dear old company promoter, " said Bones, "I do not want to buy yourcar. In fact, you have no cars to sell. "

"We've had a lot of labour trouble, " said Mr. Soames hurriedly. "You've no idea of the difficulties in production--what with theGovernment holding up supplies--but in a few months----"

"I know all about that, " said Bones. "Now, I'm a man of affairs and aman of business. "

He said this so definitely that it sounded like a threat. 

"I'm putting it to you, as one City of London business person toanother City of London business person, is it possible to make cars atyour factory?"

Mr. Soames rose to the occasion. 

"I assure you, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said earnestly, "it is possible. Itwants a little more capital than we've been able to raise. "

This was the trouble with all Mr. Soames's companies, a long list ofwhich appeared on a brass plate by the side of his door. None of themwere sufficiently capitalised to do anything except to supply him withhis fees as managing director. 

Bones produced a dinky little pocket-book from his waistcoat and readhis notes, or, rather, attempted to read his notes. Presently he gaveit up and trusted to his memory. 

"You've got forty thousand pounds subscribed to your Company, " he said. "Now, I'll tell you what I'm willing to do--I will take over yourshares at a price. "

Mr. Soames swallowed hard. Here was one of the dreams of his lifecoming true. 

"There are four million shares issued, " Bones went on, consulting hisnotebook. 

"Eh?" said Mr. Soames in a shocked voice. 

Bones looked at his book closer. 

"Is it four hundred thousand?"

"Forty thousand, " said Mr. Soames gently. 

"It is a matter of indifference, " said Bones. "The point is, will yousell?"

The managing director of the Plover Light Car Company pursed his lips. 

"Of course, " he said, "the shares are at a premium--not, " he addedquickly, "that they are being dealt with on 'Change. We have nottroubled to apply for quotations. But I assure you, my dear sir, theshares are at a premium. "

Bones said nothing. 

"At a small premium, " said Mr. Soames hopefully. 

Bones made no reply. 

"At a half a crown premium, " said Mr. Soames pleadingly. 

"At par, " said Bones, in his firmest and most business-like tones. 

The matter was not settled there and then, because matters are notsettled with such haste in the City of London. Bones went home to hisoffice with a new set of notes, and wired to Hamilton, asking him tocome on the following day. 

It was a great scheme that Bones worked out that night, with the aid ofthe sceptical Miss Whitland. His desk was piled high with technicalpublications dealing with the motor-car industry. The fact that he wasbuying the Company in order to rescue a friend's investment passedentirely from his mind in the splendid dream he conjured from hisdubious calculations. 

The Plover car should cover the face of the earth. He read an articleon mass production, showing how a celebrated American produced athousand or a hundred thousand cars a day--he wasn't certain which--andhow the car, in various parts, passed along an endless table, betweenlines of expectant workmen, each of whom fixed a nut or unfixed a nut, so that, when the machine finally reached its journey's end, it leftthe table under its own power. 

Bones designed a circular table, so that, if any of the workmen forgotto fix a bar or a nut or a wheel, the error could be rectified when thecar came round again. The Plover car should be a household word. Itsfactories should spread over North London, and every year there shouldbe a dinner with Bones in the chair, and a beautiful secretary on hisright, and Bones should make speeches announcing the amount of theprofits which were to be distributed to his thousands of hands in theshape of bonuses. 

Hamilton came promptly at ten o'clock, and he came violently. He flewinto the office and banged a paper down on Bones's desk with theenthusiasm of one who had become the sudden possessor of money which hehad not earned. 

"Dear old thing, dear old thing, " said Bones testily, "remember dearold Dicky Orum--preserve the decencies, dear old Ham. You're not inthe Wild West now, my cheery boy. "

"Bones, " shouted Hamilton, "you're my mascot! Do you know what hashappened?"

"Lower your voice, lower your voice, dear old friend, " protested Bones. "My typewriter mustn't think I am quarrelling. "

"He came last night, " said Hamilton, "just as I was going to bed, andknocked me up. " He was almost incoherent in his joy. "He offered methree thousand five hundred pounds for my shares, and I took it like ashot. "

Bones gaped at him. 

"Offered you three thousand five hundred?" he gasped. "Good heavens!You don't mean to say----"

Consider the tragedy of that moment. Here was Bones, full of greatschemes for establishing a car upon the world's markets, who had in hishead planned extensive works, who saw in his mind's eye vistas of long, white-covered festive boards, and heard the roar of cheering whichgreeted him when he rose to propose continued prosperity to the firm. Consider also that his cheque was on the table before him, already madeout and signed. He was at that moment awaiting the arrival of Mr. Soames. 

And then to this picture, tangible or fanciful, add Mr. Charles O. Soames himself, ushered through the door of the outer office andstanding as though stricken to stone at the sight of Bones and Hamiltonin consultation. 

"Good morning, " said Bones. 

Mr. Soames uttered a strangled cry and strode to the centre of theroom, his face working. 

"So it was a ramp, was it?" he said. "A swindle, eh? You put this upto get your pal out of the cart?"

"My dear old----" began Bones in a shocked voice. 

"I see how it was done. Well, you've had me for three thousand fivehundred, and your pal's lucky. That's all I've got to say. It is thefirst time I've ever been caught; and to be caught by a mug likeyou----"

"Dear old thing, moderate your language, " murmured Bones. 

Mr. Soames breathed heavily through his nose, thrust his hat on theback of his head, and, without another word, strode from the office, and they heard the door slam behind him. Bones and Hamilton exchangedglances; then Bones picked up the cheque from the desk and slowly toreit up. He seemed to spend his life tearing up expensive cheques. 

"What is it, Bones? What the dickens did you do?" asked the puzzledHamilton. 

"Dear old Ham, " said Bones solemnly, "it was a little scheme--just alittle scheme. Sit down, dear old officer, " he said, after a solemnpause. "And let this be a warning to you. Don't put your money inindustries, dear old Captain Hamilton. What with the state of thelabour market, and the deuced ingratitude of the working classes, it'spositively heartbreaking--it is, indeed, dear old Ham. "

And then and there he changed the whole plan and went out ofindustrials for good. 

CHAPTER V

A CINEMA PICTURE

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, called "Bones, " made money by sheer luck--hemade more by sheer artistic judgment. That is a fact which an oldfriend sensed a very short time after he had renewed his acquaintancewith his sometime subordinate. 

Yet Bones had the curious habit of making money in quite a differentway from that which he planned--as, for example, in the matter of thegreat oil amalgamation. In these days of aeroplane travel, when it isnext to impossible to watch the comings and goings of importantindividuals, or even to get wind of directors' meetings, the City isapt to be a little jumpy, and to respond to wild rumours in a fashionextremely trying to the nerves of conservative brokers. 

There were rumours of a fusion of interests between the Franco-PersianOil Company and the Petroleum Consolidated--rumours which set theshares of both concerns jumping up and down like two badly trainedjazzers. The directorate of both companies expressed their surprisethat a credulous public could accept such stories, and both M. Jorris, the emperor of the Franco-Persian block, and George Y. Walters, theprince regent of the "Petco, " denied indignantly that any amalgamationwas even dreamt of. 

Before these denials came along Bones had plunged into the oil market, making one of the few flutters which stand as interrogation marksagainst his wisdom and foresight. 

He did not lose; rather, he was the winner by his adventure. Theextent of his immediate gains he inscribed in his private ledger; hisultimate and bigger balance he entered under a head which had nothingto do with the oil gamble--which was just like Bones, as Hamiltonsubsequently remarked. 

Hamilton was staying with Sanders--late Commissioner of a certain groupof Territories--and Bones was the subject of conversation one morningat breakfast. 

The third at the table was an exceedingly pretty girl, whom the maidcalled "Madame, " and who opened several letters addressed to "Mrs. Sanders, " but who in days not long past had been known as PatriciaHamilton. 

"Bones is wonderful, " said Sanders, "truly wonderful! A man I know inthe City tells me that most of the things he touches turn up trumps. And it isn't luck or chance. Bones is developing a queer businesssense. "

Hamilton nodded. 

"It is his romantic soul which gets him there, " he said. "Bones willnot look at a proposition which hasn't something fantastical behind it. He doesn't know much about business, but he's a regular whale onadventure. I've been studying him for the past month, and I'mbeginning to sense his method. If he sees a logical and happy end tothe romantic side of any new business, he takes it on. He simplycarries the business through on the back of a dream. "

The girl looked up from the coffee-pot she was handling. 

"Have you made up your mind, dear?"

"About going in with Bones?" Hamilton smiled. "No, not yet. Bones isfrantically insistent, has had a beautiful new Sheraton desk placed inhis office, and says that I'm the influence he wants, but----"

He shook his head. 

"I think I understand, " said Sanders. "You feel that he is doing itall out of sheer generosity and kindness. That would be like Bones. But isn't there a chance that what he says is true--that he does want acorrective influence?"

"Maybe that is so, " said Captain Hamilton doubtfully. "And thenthere's the money. I don't mind investing my little lot, but it wouldworry me to see Bones pretending that all the losses of the firm cameout of his share, and a big slice of the profits going into mine. "

"I shouldn't let that worry you, " said his sister quietly. "Bones istoo nice-minded to do anything so crude. Of course, your money isnothing compared with Bones's fortune, but why don't you join him onthe understanding that the capital of the Company should be---- Howmuch would you put in?

"Four thousand. "

"Well, make the capital eight thousand. Bones could always lend theCompany money. Debentures--isn't that the word?"

Sanders smiled in her face. 

"You're a remarkable lady, " he said. "From where on earth did you getyour ideas on finance?"

She went red. 

"I lunched with Bones yesterday, " she said. "And here is the post. "

"Silence, babbler, " said Hamilton. "Before we go any farther, whatabout this matter of partnership you were discussing with Patricia?"

The maid distributed the letters. One was addressed:

"Captin Captian Hamilton, D. S. O. "

"From Bones, " said Hamilton unnecessarily, and Bones's letter claimedfirst attention. It was a frantic and an ecstatic epistle, heavilyunderlined and exclaimed. 

"Dear old old Ham, " it ran, "you simply must join me in _magnifficant_new sceme sheme plan! Wonderfull prophits profets! The mostextraordiny _chance_ for a fortune... "

"For Heaven's sake, what's this?" asked Hamilton, handing the letteracross to his sister and indicating an illegible line. "It looks like'a bad girl's leg' to me. "

"My dear!" said the shocked Mrs. Sanders, and studied the vilecaligraphy. "It certainly does look like that, " she admitted, "and----I see! 'Legacy' is the word. "

"A bad girl's legacy is the titel of the play story picture" (Bonesnever crossed anything out). "There's a studyo at Tunbridge and twocameras and a fellow awfully nice fellow who understands it. A pot ofmoney the story can be improve improved imensely. Come in it dear oldman--_magnifficant_ chance. See me at office eariliest earilestealiest possible time. 

"Thine in art for art sake, "BONES. "

"From which I gather that Bones is taking a header into the cinemabusiness, " said Sanders. "What do you say, Hamilton?"

Hamilton thought a while. 

"I'll see Bones, " he said. 

He arrived in Town soon after ten, but Bones had been at his office twohours earlier, for the fever of the new enterprise was upon him, andhis desk was piled high with notes, memoranda, price lists and tradepublications. (Bones, in his fine rage of construction, flew to thetechnical journals as young authors fly to the Thesaurus. )

As Hamilton entered the office, Bones glared up. 

"A chair, " said the young man peremptorily. "No time to be lost, dearold artist. Time is on the wing, the light is fadin', an' if we wantto put this jolly old country--God bless it!--in the forefront----"

Bones put down his pen and leant back in his chair. 

"Ham, " he said, "I had a bit of a pow-pow with your sacred and saintedsister, bless her jolly old heart. That's where the idea arose. Areyou on?"

"I'm on, " said Hamilton, and there was a moving scene. Bones shook hishands and spoke broken English. 

"There's your perfectly twee little desk, dear old officer, " he said, pointing to a massive piece of furniture facing his own. "And there'sonly one matter to be settled. "

He was obviously uncomfortable, and Hamilton would have reached for hischeque-book, only he knew his Bones much better than to suppose thatsuch a sordid matter as finance could cause his agitation. 

"Ham, " said Bones, clearing his throat and speaking with an effort, "old comrade of a hundred gallant encounters, and dear old friend----"

"What's the game?" asked Hamilton suspiciously. 

"There's no game, " said the depressed Bones. "This is a very seriouspiece of business, my jolly old comrade. As my highly respectedpartner, you're entitled to use the office as you like--come in whenyou like, go home when you like. If you have a pain in the tum-tum, dear old friend, just go to bed and trust old Bones to carry on. Useany paper that's going, help yourself to nibs--you'll find there's somebeautiful nibs in that cupboard--in fact, do as you jolly well like;but----"

"But?" repeated Hamilton. 

"On one point alone, dear old thing, " said Bones miserably, yetheroically, "we do not share. "

"What's that?" asked Hamilton, not without curiosity. 

"My typewriter is my typewriter, " said Bones firmly, and Hamiltonlaughed. 

"You silly ass!" he said. "I'm not going to play with your typewriter. "

"That's just what I mean, " said Bones. "You couldn't have put itbetter, dear old friend. Thank you. "

He strode across the room, gripped Hamilton's hand and wrung it. 

"Dear old thing, she's too young, " he said brokenly. "Hard life ... Terrible experience... Play with her young affections, dear old thing?No... "

"Who the dickens are you talking about? You said typewriter. "

"I said typewriter, " agreed Bones gravely. "I am speaking about my----"

A light dawned upon Hamilton. 

"You mean your secretary?"

"I mean my secretary, " said Bones. 

"Good Heavens, Bones!" scoffed Hamilton. "Of course I shan't botherher. She's your private secretary, and naturally I wouldn't think ofgiving her work. "

"Or orders, " said Bones gently. "That's a point, dear old thing. Isimply couldn't sit here and listen to you giving her orders. I shouldscream. I'm perfectly certain I can trust you, Ham. I know what youare with the girls, but there are times----"

"You know what I am with the girls?" said the wrathful Hamilton. "Whatthe dickens do you know about me, you libellous young devil?"

Bones raised his hand. 

"We will not refer to the past, " he said meaningly and was soimpressive that Hamilton began to search his mind for some forgottenpeccadillo. 

"All that being arranged to our mutual satisfaction, dear old partner, "said Bones brightly, "permit me to introduce you. "

He walked to the glass-panelled door leading to the outer office, andknocked discreetly, Hamilton watching him in wonder. He saw himdisappear, closing the door after him. Presently he came out again, following the girl. 

"Dear young miss, " said Bones in his squeakiest voice, a sure sign ofhis perturbation, "permit me to introduce partner, ancient commander, gallant and painstaking, jolly old Captain Hamilton, D. S. O. --whichstands, young typewriter, for Deuced Satisfactory Officer. "

The girl, smiling, shook hands, and Hamilton for the first time lookedher in the face. He had been amazed before by her classic beauty, butnow he saw a greater intelligence than he had expected to find in sopretty a face, and, most pleasing of all, a sense of humour. 

"Bones and I are very old friends, " he explained. 

"Hem!" said Bones severely. 

"Bones?" said the girl, puzzled. 

"Naturally!" murmured Bones. "Dear old Ham, be decent. You can'texpect an innocent young typewriter to think of her employer as'Bones. '"

"I'm awfully sorry, " Hamilton hastened to apologise, "but you see, Bones and I----"

"Dicky Orum, " murmured Bones. "Remember yourself, Ham, old indiscreetone--Mr. Tibbetts. And here's the naughty old picture-taker, " he saidin another tone, and rushed to offer an effusive welcome to a smartyoung man with long, black, wavy hair and a face reminiscent, to allstudents who have studied his many pictures, of Louis XV. Strangelyenough, his name was Louis. He was even called Lew. 

"Sit down, my dear Mr. Becksteine, " said Bones. "Let me introduce youto my partner. Captain Hamilton, D. S. O. --a jolly old comrade-in-armsand all that sort of thing. My lady typewriter you know, and anyway, there's no necessity for your knowing her---- I mean, " he saidhastily, "she doesn't want to know you, dear old thing. Now, don't bepeevish. Ham, you sit there. Becksteine will sit there. You, youngmiss, will sit near me, ready to take down my notes as they fall frommy ingenious old brain. "

In the bustle and confusion the embarrassing moment of Hamilton'sintroduction was forgotten. Bones had a manuscript locked away in thebottom drawer of his desk, and when he had found the key for this, andhad placed the document upon the table, and when he had found certainother papers, and when the girl was seated in a much more comfortablechair--Bones fussed about like an old hen--the proceedings began. 

Bones explained. 

He had seen the derelict cinema company advertised in a technicaljournal, had been impressed with the amount of the impedimenta whichaccompanied the proprietorship of the syndicate, had been seized with abrilliant idea, bought the property, lock, stock, and barrel, for twothousand pounds, for which sum, as an act of grace, the lateproprietors allowed him to take over the contract of Mr. LewBecksteine, that amiable and gifted producer. 

It may be remarked, in passing, that this arrangement was immenselysatisfactory to the syndicate, which was so tied and bound to Mr. Becksteine for the next twelve months that to have cancelled hiscontract would have cost them the greater part of the purchase pricewhich Bones paid. 

"This is the story, " said Bones impressively. "And, partner Ham, believe me, I've read many, many stories in my life, but never, neverhas one touched me as this has. It's a jolly old tear-bringer, Ham. Even a hardened, wicked old dev--old bird like you would positivelydissolve. You would really, dear old Ham, so don't deny it. You knowyou've got one of the tenderest hearts in the world, you rascal!"

He got up and shook hands with Hamilton, though there was no necessityfor him to move. 

"Now, clever old Becksteine thinks that this is going to be a scorcher. "

"A winner, a winner, " murmured Mr. Becksteine, closing his eyes andshaking his head. He spoke on this occasion very softly, but he couldraise his voice to thrilling heights. "A sure winner, my dear sir. Ihave been in the profession for twenty-seven years, and never in mylife have I read a drama which contains so much heart appeal----"

"You hear?" said Bones in a hoarse whisper. 

"--so much genuine comedy----"

Bones nodded. 

"--so much that I might say goes straight to the passionate heart ofthe great public, as this remarkable, brilliantly planned, admirablyplanted, exquisitely balanced little cameo of real life. "

"It's to be a two-roller, " said Bones. 

"Reeler, " murmured Mr. Becksteine. 

"Reeler or roller, dear old thing; don't let's quarrel over how athing's spelt, " said Bones. 

"Who wrote it?" asked Hamilton. 

Mr. Becksteine coughed modestly. 

"Jolly old Becksteine wrote it, " said Bones. "That man, Ham, is one ofthe most brilliant geniuses in this or any other world. Aren't you?Speak up, old playwright. Don't be shy, old thing. "

Mr. Becksteine coughed again. 

"I do not know anything about other worlds, " he admitted. 

"Now, this is my idea, " said Bones, interrupting what promised to be afree and frank admission of Mr. Becksteine's genius. "I've worked thething out, and I see just how we can save money. In producingtwo-roller cinematographs--that's the technical term, " explained Bones, "the heavy expense is with the artistes. The salaries that thesepeople are paid! My dear old Ham, you'd never believe. "

"I don't see how you can avoid paying salaries, " said Hamiltonpatiently. "I suppose even actors have to live. "

"Ah!" said Mr. Becksteine, shaking his head. 

"Of course, dear old thing. But why pay outside actors?" said Bonestriumphantly. 

He glared from one face to the other with a ferocity of expressionwhich did no more than indicate the strength of his conviction. 

"Why not keep the money in the family, dear old Ham? That's what I askyou. Answer me that. " He leaned back in his chair, thrust his handsin his trousers pockets, and blandly surveyed his discomfited audience. 

"But you've got to have actors, my dear chap, " said Hamilton. 

"Naturally and necessarily, " replied Bones, nodding with very largenods. "And we have them. Who is Jasper Brown, the villain who triesto rob the poor girl of her legacy and casts the vilest aspersions uponher jolly old name?"

"Who is?" asked the innocent Hamilton. 

"You are, " said Bones. 

Hamilton gasped. 

"Who is Frank Fearnot, the young and handsome soldier--well, notnecessarily handsome, but pretty good-looking--who rescues the girlfrom her sad predicament?"

"Well, that can't be me, anyway, " said Hamilton. 

"It is not, " said Bones. "It is me! Who is the gorgeous but sad oldinnocent one who's chased by you, Ham, till the poor little souldoesn't know which way to turn, until this jolly young officer stepsbrightly on the scene, whistling a merry tune, and, throwing his armsabout her, saves her, dear old thing, from her fate--or, really, from aperfectly awful rotten time. "

"Who is she?" asked Hamilton softly. 

Bones blinked and turned to the girl slowly. 

"My dear old miss, " he said, "what do you think?"

"What do I think?" asked the startled girl. "What do I think aboutwhat?"

"There's a part, " said Bones--"there's one of the grandest parts thatwas ever written since Shakespeare shut his little copybook. "

"You're not suggesting that I should play it?" she asked, open-mouthed. 

"Made for you, dear old typewriter, positively made for you, thatpart, " murmured Bones. 

"Of course I shall do nothing so silly, " said the girl, with a laugh. "Oh, Mr. Tibbetts, you really didn't think that I'd do such a----"

She didn't finish the sentence, but Hamilton could have supplied thethree missing words without any difficulty. 

Thereafter followed a discussion, which in the main consisted of jointand several rejection of parts. Marguerite Whitland most resolutelyrefused to play the part of the bad girl, even though Bones promised tochange the title to "The Good Girl, " even though he wheedled his best, even though he struck attitudes indicative of despair and utter ruin, even though the gentle persuasiveness of Mr. Lew Becksteine was addedto his entreaties. And Hamilton as resolutely declined to haveanything to do with the bad man. Mr. Becksteine solved the difficultyby undertaking to produce the necessary actors and actresses at theminimum of cost. 

"Of course you won't play, Bones?" said Hamilton. 

"I don't know, " said Bones. "I'm not so sure, dear old thing. I'vegot a lot of acting talent in me, and I feel the part--that's atechnical term you won't understand. "

"But surely, Mr. Tibbetts, " said the girl reproachfully, "you won'tallow yourself to be photographed embracing a perfectly strange lady?"

Bones shrugged his shoulders. 

"Art, my dear old typewriter, " he said. "She'll be no more to me thana bit of wood, dear old miss. I shall embrace her and forget all aboutit the second after. You need have no cause for apprehension, reallyand truly. "

"I am not at all apprehensive, " said the girl coldly, and Bonesfollowed her to her office, showering explanations of his meaning overher shoulder. 

On the third day Hamilton went back to Twickenham a very weary man. 

"Bones is really indefatigable, " he said irritably, but yet admiringly. "He has had those unfortunate actors rehearsing in the open fields, onthe highways and byways. Really, old Bones has no sense of decency. He's got one big scene which he insists upon taking in a private park. I shudder to think what will happen if the owner comes along andcatches Bones and his wretched company. "

Sanders laughed quietly. 

"What do you think he'll do with the film?" he asked. 

"Oh, he'll sell it, " said Hamilton. "I tell you, Bones is amazing. Hehas found a City man who is interested in the film industry, astockbroker or something, who has promised to see every bit of film asit is produced and give him advice on the subject; and, incredible asit may sound, the first half-dozen scenes that Bones has taken havepassed muster. "

"Who turns the handle of the camera?" asked the girl. 

"Bones, " said Hamilton, trying not to laugh. "He practised therevolutions on a knife-cleaning machine!"

The fourth day it rained, but the fifth day Bones took his company in ahired motor into the country, and, blissfully ignoring such admonitionsas "Trespassers will be shot, " he led the way over a wall to the sacredsoil of an Englishman's stately home. Bones wanted the wood, becauseone of his scenes was laid on the edge of a wood. It was the scenewhere the bad girl, despairing of convincing anybody as to her inherentgoodness, was taking a final farewell of the world before "leaving alife which had held nothing but sadness and misunderstanding, " to quotethe title which was to introduce this touching episode. 

Bones found the right location, fitted up his camera, placed theyellow-faced girl--the cinema artiste has a somewhat bilious appearancewhen facing the lens--and began his instructions. 

"Now, you walk on here, dear old Miss What's-Your-Name. You come fromthat tree with halting footsteps--like this, dear old thing. Watch andlearn. "

Bones staggered across the greensward, clasping his brow, sank on hisknees, folded his arms across his chest, and looked sorrowfully at theheavens, shaking his head. 

Hamilton screamed with laughter. 

"Behave yourself, naughty old sceptic, " said Bones severely. 

After half an hour's preliminary rehearsal, the picture was taken, andBones now prepared to depart; but Mr. Lew Becksteine, from whose handsBones had taken, not only the direction of the play, but the veryexcuse for existence, let fall a few uncomfortable words. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said, in the sad, bored voice of anartiste who is forced to witness the inferior work of another, "it isin this scene that the two lawyers must be taken, walking through thewood, quite unconscious of the unhappy fate which has overtaken theheiress for whom they are searching. "

"True, " said Bones, and scratched his nose. 

He looked round for likely lawyers. Hamilton stole gently away. 

"Now, why the dickens didn't you remind me, you careless old producer, to bring two lawyers with me?" asked Bones. "Dash it all, there'snothing here that looks like a lawyer. Couldn't it be taken somewhereelse?"

Mr. Becksteine had reached the stage where he was not prepared to makethings easy for his employer. 

"Utterly impossible, " he said; "you must have exactly the same scenery. The camera cannot lie. "

Bones surveyed his little company, but without receiving anyencouragement. 

"Perhaps I might find a couple of fellows on the road, " he suggested. 

"It is hardly likely, " said Mr. Lew Becksteine, "that you will discoverin this remote country village two gentlemen arrayed in faultlesslyfitting morning-coats and top-hats!"

"I don't know so much about that, " said the optimistic Bones, and tooka short cut through the wood, knowing that the grounds made an abruptturn where they skirted the main road. 

He was half-way through the copse when he stopped. Now, Bones was agreat believer in miracles, but they had to be very spectacularmiracles. The fact that standing in the middle of the woodland pathwere two middle-aged gentlemen in top-hats and morning-coats, seemed toBones to be a mere slice of luck. It was, in fact, a miracle of thefirst class. He crept silently back, raced down the steps to where thelittle party stood. 

"Camera!" he hissed. "Bring it along, dear old thing. Don't make anoise! Ham, old boy, will you help? You other persons, stay where youare. "

Hamilton shouldered the camera, and on the way up the slope Bonesrevealed his fell intention. 

"There is no need to tell these silly old jossers what we're doing, " hesaid. "You see what I mean, Ham, old boy? We'll just take a pictureof them as they come along. Nobody will be any the wiser, and allwe'll have to do will be to put a little note in. " All the time he wasfixing the camera on the tripod, focussing the lens on a tree by thepath. (It was amazing how quickly Bones mastered the technique of anynew hobby he took up. )

From where Hamilton crouched in the bushes he could see the two menplainly. His heart quaked, realising that one at least was possiblythe owner of the property on which he was trespassing; and he had allan Englishman's horror of trespass. They were talking together, theserespectable gentlemen, when Bones began to turn the handle. They hadto pass through a patch of sunlight, and it was upon this that Bonesconcentrated. Once one of them looked around as the sound of clickingcame to him, but at that moment Bones decided he had taken enough andstopped. 

"This, " said he, as they gained the by-road where they had made theirunauthorised entry into the park, "is a good day's work. "

Their car was on the main road, and to Hamilton's surprise he found thetwo staid gentlemen regarding it when the party came up. They wereregarding it from a high bank behind the wall--a bank which commanded aview of the road. One of them observed the camera and said somethingin a low tone to the other; then the speaker walked down the bank, opened a little wicker door in the wall, and came out. 

He was a most polite man, and tactful. 

"Have you been taking pictures?" he asked. 

"Dear old fellow, " said Bones. "I will not deceive you--we have. "

There was a silence. 

"In the--park, by any chance?" asked the gentleman carelessly. 

Bones flinched. He felt rather guilty, if the truth be told. 

"The fact is----" he began. 

The elderly man listened to the story of "The Bad Girl's Legacy, " itsgenesis, its remarkable literary qualities, and its photographic value. He seemed to know a great deal about cinematographs, and asked severalquestions. 

"So you have an expert who sees the pieces as they are produced?" heasked. "Who is that?"

"Mr. Tim Lewis, " said Bones. "He's one of the----"

"Lewis?" said the other quickly. "Is that Lewis the stockbroker? Anddoes he see every piece you take?"

Bones was getting weary of answering questions. 

"Respected sir and park proprietor, " he said, "if we have trespassed, Iapologise. If we did any harm innocently, and without knowing that wetransgressed the jolly old conventions--if we, as I say, took a pictureof you and your fellow park proprietor without a thank-you-very-much, Iam sorry. "

"You took me and my friend?" asked the elderly man quickly. 

"I am telling you, respected sir and cross-examiner, that I took youbeing in a deuce of a hole for a lawyer. "

"I see, " said the elderly man. "Will you do me a favour? Will you letme see your copy of that picture before you show it to Mr. Lewis? Asthe respected park proprietor"--he smiled--"you owe me that. "

"Certainly, my dear old friend and fellow-sufferer, " said Bones. "Bless my life and heart and soul, certainly!"

He gave the address of the little Wardour Street studio where the filmwould be developed and printed, and fixed the morrow for an exhibition. 

"I should very much like to see it to-night, if it is no trouble toyou. "

"We will certainly do our best, sir, " Hamilton felt it was necessary tointerfere at this point. 

"Of course, any extra expense you are put to as the result offacilitating the printing, or whatever you do to these films, " said theelderly man, "I shall be glad to pay. "

He was waiting for Bones and Hamilton at nine o'clock that night in thedingy little private theatre which Bones, with great difficulty, hadsecured for his use. The printing of the picture had been accelerated, and though the print was slightly speckled, it was a good one. 

The elderly man sat in a chair and watched it reeled off, and when thelights in the little theatre went up, he turned to Bones with a smile. 

"I'm interested in cinema companies, " he said, "and I rather fancy thatI should like to include your property in an amalgamation I am making. I could assist you to fix a price, " he said to the astonished Bones, "if you would tell me frankly, as I think you will, just what thisbusiness has cost you from first to last. "

"My dear old amalgamator, " said Bones reproachfully, "is that business?I ask you. "

"It may be good business, " said the other. 

Bones looked at Hamilton. They and the elderly man, who had driven upto the door of the Wardour Street studio in a magnificent car, were theonly three people, besides the operator, who were present. 

Hamilton nodded. 

"Well, " said Bones, "business, dear old thing, is my weakness. Buyingand selling is my passion and Lobby. From first to last, after payingjolly old Brickdust, this thing is going to cost me more than threethousand pounds--say, three thousand five hundred. "

The elderly man nodded. 

"Let's make a quick deal, " he said. "I'll give you six thousand poundsfor the whole concern, with the pictures as you have takenthem--negatives, positives, cameras, etc. Is it a bargain?"

Bones held out his hand. 

They dined together, a jubilant Bones and a more jubilant Hamilton, ata little restaurant in Soho. 

"My dear old Ham, " said Bones, "it only shows you how things happen. This would have been a grand week for me if those beastly oil shares ofmine had gone up. I'm holding 'em for a rise. " He opened a newspaperhe had bought in the restaurant. "I see that Jorris andWalters--they're the two oil men--deny that they've ever met or thatthey're going to amalgamate. But can you believe these people?" heasked. "My dear old thing, the mendacity of these wretchedfinanciers----"

"Have you ever seen them?" asked Hamilton, to whom the names of Jorrisand Walters were as well known as to any other man who read his dailynewspaper. 

"Seen them?" said Bones. "My dear old fellow, I've met them time andtime again. Two of the jolliest old birds in the world. Well, here'sluck!"

At that particular moment Mr. Walters and Mr. Jorris were sittingtogether in the library of a house in Berkeley Square, the blinds beinglowered and the curtains being drawn, and Mr. Walters was saying:

"We'll have to make this thing public on Wednesday. My dear fellow, Inearly fainted when I heard that that impossible young person hadphotographed us together. When do you go back to Paris?"

"I think I had better stay here, " said Mr. Jorris. "Did the young manbleed you?"

"Only for six thousand, " said the pleasant Mr. Walters. "I hope theyoung beggar's a bear in oil, " he added viciously. 

But Bones, as we know, was a bull. 

CHAPTER VI

A DEAL IN JUTE

It is a reasonable theory that every man of genius is two men, onevisible, one unseen and often unsuspected by his counterpart. For whohas not felt the shadow's influence in dealing with such as have theSpark? Napoleon spoke of stars, being Corsican and a mystic. Thosewho met him in his last days were uneasily conscious that the secondBonaparte had died on the eve of Waterloo, leaving derelict hisbrother, a stout and commonplace man who was in turn sycophantic, choleric, and pathetic, but never great. 

Noticeable is the influence of the Shadow in the process ofmoney-making. It is humanly impossible for some men to be fortunate. They may amass wealth by sheer hard work and hard reasoning, but ifthey seek a shorter cut to opulence, be sure that short cut ends in acul-de-sac where sits a Bankruptcy Judge and a phalanx of stony-facedcreditors. "Luck" is not for them--they were born single. 

For others, the whole management of life is taken from their hands bytheir busy Second, who ranges the world to discover opportunities forhis partner. 

So it comes about that there are certain men, and AugustusTibbetts--or, as he was named, "Bones"--was one of these, to whom theincrements of life come miraculously. They could come in no other way, be he ever so learned and experienced. 

Rather would a greater worldliness have hampered his familiar and intime destroyed its power, just as education destroys the more subtleinstincts. Whilst the learned seismographer eats his dinner, cheerfully unconscious of the coming earthquake, his dog shiversbeneath the table. 

By this preamble I am not suggesting that Bones was a fool. Far fromit. Bones was wise--uncannily wise in some respects. His success wasdue, as to nine-tenths, to his native sense. His _x_ supplied theother fraction. 

No better illustration of the working of this concealed quantity can begiven than the story of the great jute sale and Miss Bertha Stegg. 

The truth about the Government speculation in jute is simply told. Itis the story of an official who, in the middle of the War, was seizedwith the bright idea of procuring enormous quantities of jute for themanufacture of sand-bags. The fact that by this transaction he mighthave driven the jute lords of Dundee into frenzy did not enter into hiscalculations. Nor did it occur to him that the advantageous positionin which he hoped to place his Department depended for its attainmentupon a total lack of foresight on the part of the Dundee merchants. 

As a matter of fact, Dundee had bought well and wisely. It hadsufficient stocks to meet all the demands which the Government madeupon it; and when, after the War, the Department offered its purchaseat a price which would show a handsome profit to the Government, Dundeelaughed long and loudly. 

And so there was left on the official hands, at the close of the War, aquantity of jute which nobody wanted, at a price which nobody wouldpay. And then somebody asked a question in the House of Commons, andthe responsible Secretary went hot all over, and framed the reply whichan Under-secretary subsequently made in such terms as would lead thecountry to believe that the jute purchased at a figure beyond themarket value was a valuable asset, and would one day be sold at aprofit. 

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts knew nothing about jute. But he did read, almostevery morning in the daily newspapers, how one person or another hadmade enormous purchases of linen, or of cloth, or of motor chassis, paying fabulous sums on the nail and walking off almost immediatelywith colossal profits; and every time Bones read such an account hewriggled in his chair and made unhappy noises. 

Then one afternoon there came to his office a suave gentleman infrock-coat, carrying with him a card which was inscribed "Ministry ofSupplies. " And the end of that conversation was that Bones, all atwitter of excitement, drove to a gloomy office in Whitehall, where heinterviewed a most sacred public official, to whom members of thepublic were not admitted, perhaps, more than four times a year. 

Hamilton had watched the proceedings with interest and suspicion. WhenBones was mysterious he was very mysterious; and he returned that nightin such a condition of mystery that none but a thought-readingdetective could have unravelled him. 

"You seem infernally pleased with yourself, Bones, " said Hamilton. "What lamentable error have you fallen into?"

"Dear old Ham, " said Bones, with the helpless little laugh whichcharacterised the very condition of mind which Hamilton had described, "dear old pryer, wait till to-morrow. Dear old thing, I wouldn't spoilit. Read your jolly old newspaper, dear old inquirer. "

"Have you been to the police court?" asked Hamilton. 

"Police court? Police court?" said Bones testily. "Good Heavens, lad!Why this jolly old vulgarity? No, dear boy, live and learn, dear oldthing!"

Hamilton undoubtedly lived until the next morning, and learnt. He sawthe headlines the second he opened his newspaper. 

 GREAT DEAL IN JUTE. PROMINENT CITY MAN BUYS GOVERNMENT SUPPLY OF JUTE FOR A MILLION. 

Hamilton was on his way to the office, and fell back in the corner ofthe railway carriage with a suppressed moan. He almost ran to theoffice, to find Bones stalking up and down the room, dictating aninterview to a reporter. 

"One minute, one minute, dear old Ham, " said. Bones warningly. Andthen, turning to the industrious journalist, he went on where Hamiltonhad evidently interrupted him. "You can say that I've spent a greatdeal of my life in fearfully dangerous conditions, " he said. "Youneedn't say where, dear old reporter, just say 'fearfully dangerousconditions. '"

"What about jute?" asked the young man. 

"Jute, " said Bones with relish, "or, as we call it, _Corchariscapsilaris_, is the famous jute tree. I have always been interested injute and all that sort of thing---- But you know what to say betterthan I can tell you. You can also say that I'm young--no, don't saythat. Put it like this: 'Mr. Tibbetts, though apparentlyyoung-looking, bears on his hardened old face the marks of years spentin the service of his country. There is a sort of sadness about hisfunny old eyes----' You know what to say, old thing. "

"I know, " said the journalist, rising. "You'll see this in the nextedition, Mr. Tibbetts. "

When the young man had gone, Hamilton staggered across to him. 

"Bones, " he said, in a hollow voice, "you've never bought this stufffor a million?"

"A million's a bit of an exaggeration, dear old sportsman, " said Bones. "As a matter of fact, it's about half that sum, and it needn't be paidfor a month. Here is the contract. " He smacked his lips and smackedthe contract, which was on the table, at the same time. "Don't getalarmed, don't get peevish, don't get panicky, don't be a wicked oldflutterer, Ham, my boy!" he said. "I've reckoned it all out, and Ishall make a cool fifty thousand by this time next week. "

"What will you pay for it?" asked Hamilton, in a shaky voice. "I mean, how much a ton?"

Bones mentioned a figure, and Hamilton jotted down a note. 

He had a friend, as it happened, in the jute trade--the owner of a bigmill in Dundee--and to him he dispatched an urgent telegram. Afterthat he examined the contract at leisure. On the fourth page of thatinteresting document was a paragraph, the seventh, to this effect:

"Either parties to this contract may, for any reason whatsoever, bygiving notice either to the Ministry of Supplies, Department 9, or tothe purchaser at his registered office, within twenty-four hours of thesigning of this contract, cancel the same. "

He read this over to Bones. 

"That's rum, " he said. "What is the idea?"

"My jolly old captain, " said Bones in his lordly way, "how should Iknow? I suppose it's in case the old Government get a better offer. Anyway, dear old timidity, it's a contract that I'm not going toterminate, believe me!"

The next afternoon Bones and Hamilton returned from a frugal lunch at anear-by tavern, and reached the imposing entrance of the building inwhich New Schemes Limited was housed simultaneously--or perhaps itwould be more truthful to say a little later--than a magnificentlimousine. It was so far ahead of them that the chauffeur had time todescend from his seat, open the highly-polished door, and assist to thehonoured sidewalk a beautiful lady in a large beaver coat, who carriedunder her arm a small portfolio. 

There was a certain swing to her shoulder as she walked, a certainundulatory movement of hip, which spoke of a large satisfaction withthe world as she found it. 

Bones, something of a connoisseur and painfully worldly, pursed hislips and broke off the conversation in which he was engaged, and whichhad to do with the prospective profits on his jute deal, and remarkedtersely:

"Ham, dear old thing, that is a chinchilla coat worth twelve hundredpounds. "

Hamilton, to whom the mysteries of feminine attire were honestmysteries, accepted the sensational report without demur. 

"The way you pick up these particular bits of information, Bones, isreally marvellous to me. It isn't as though you go out a lot intosociety. It isn't as though women are fond of you or make a fuss ofyou. "

Bones coughed. 

"Dicky Orum. Remember, dear old Richard, " he murmured. "My privatelife, dear old fellow, if you will forgive me snubbing you, is a matteron which nobody is an authority except A. Tibbetts, Esq. There's a lotyou don't know, dear old Ham. I was thinking of writing a book aboutit, but it would take too long. "

By this time they reached the elevator, which descended in time toreceive the beautiful lady in the brown coat. Bones removed his hat, smoothed his glossy hair, and with a muttered "After you, dear oldfriend. Age before honesty, " bundled Hamilton into the lift andfollowed him. 

The elevator stopped at the third floor, and the lady got out. Bones, his curiosity overcoming his respect for age or his appreciation ofprobity, followed her, and was thrilled to discover that she madestraight for his office. She hesitated for a moment before that whichbore the word "Private, " and passed on to the outer and general office. 

Bones slipped into his own room so quickly that by the time Hamiltonentered he was sitting at his desk in a thoughtful and studiousattitude. 

It cannot be said that the inner office was any longer entitled to thedescription of sanctum sanctorum. Rather was the holy of holies thelarger and less ornate apartment wherein sat A Being whose capablelittle fingers danced over complicated banks of keys. 

The communicating door opened and the Being appeared. Hamilton, mindful of a certain agreement with his partner, pretended not to seeher. 

"There's a lady who wishes a private interview with you, Mr. Tibbetts, "said the girl. 

Bones turned with an exaggerated start. 

"A lady?" he said in a tone of incredulity. "Gracious Heavens! Thisis news to me, dear old miss. Show her in, please, show her in. Aprivate interview, eh?" He looked meaningly at Hamilton. Hamilton didnot raise his eyes--in accordance with his contract. "A privateinterview, eh?" said Bones louder. "Does she want to see me by myself?"

"Perhaps you would like to see her in my room, " said the girl. "Icould stay here with Mr. Hamilton. "

Bones glared at the unconscious Hamilton. 

"That is not necessary, dear old typewriter, " he said stiffly. "Showthe young woman in, please. "

The "young woman, " came in. Rather, she tripped and undulated andswayed from the outer office to the chair facing Bones, and Bones rosesolemnly to greet her. 

Miss Marguerite Whitland, the beautiful Being, who had surveyed thetripping and swaying and undulating with the same frank curiosity thatCleopatra might have devoted to a performing seal, went into her officeand closed the door gently behind her. 

"Sit down, sit down, " said Bones. "And what can I do for you, youngmiss?"

The girl smiled. It was one of those flashing smiles which makesusceptible men blink. Bones was susceptible. Never had he been gazedupon with such kindness by a pair of such large, soft, brown eyes. Never had cheeks dimpled so prettily and so pleasurably, and seldom hadBones experienced such a sensation of warm embarrassment--notunpleasant--as he did now. 

"I am sure I am being an awful nuisance to you, Mr. Tibbetts, " said thelady. "You don't know my name, do you? Here is my card. " She had itready in her hand, and put it in front of him. Bones waited a minuteor two while he adjusted his monocle, and read:

 "MISS BERTHA STEGG. "

As a matter of fact, he read it long before he had adjusted hismonocle, but the official acknowledgment was subsequent to thatperformance. 

"Yes, yes, " said Bones, who on such occasions as these, or on suchoccasions as remotely resembled these, was accustomed to take on theair and style of the strong, silent man. "What can we do for you, myjolly old--Miss Stegg?"

"It's a charity, " blurted the girl, and sat back to watch the effect ofher words. "Oh, I know what you business men are! You simply hatepeople bothering you for subscriptions! And really, Mr. Tibbetts, if Ihad to come to ask you for money, I would never have come at all. Ithink it's so unfair for girls to pester busy men in their offices, atthe busiest time of the day, with requests for subscriptions. "

Bones coughed. In truth, he had never been pestered, and was enjoyingthe experience. 

"No, this is something much more pleasant, from my point of view, " saidthe girl. "We are having a bazaar in West Kensington on behalf of theLittle Tots' Recreation Fund. "

"A most excellent plan, " said Bones firmly. 

Hamilton, an interested audience, had occasion to marvel anew at theamazing self-possession of his partner. 

"It is one of the best institutions that I know, " Bones went onthoughtfully. "Of course, it's many years since I was a little tot, but I can still sympathise with the jolly old totters, dear young miss. "

She had taken her portfolio from under her arm and laid it on his desk. It was a pretty portfolio, bound in powder blue and silver, and wasfastened by a powder blue tape with silver tassels. Bones eyed it withpardonable curiosity. 

"I'm not asking you for money, Mr. Tibbetts, " Miss Stegg went on in hersoft, sweet voice. "I think we can raise all the money we want at thebazaar. But we must have things to sell. "

"I see, dear old miss, " said Bones eagerly. "You want a few oldclothes? I've got a couple of suits at home, rather baggy at theknees, dear old thing, but you know what we boys are; we wear 'em untilthey fall off!"

The horrified Hamilton returned to the scrutiny of his notes. 

"I don't suppose under-garments, if you will permit the indelicacy, mydear old philanthropist----" Bones was going on, when the girl stoppedhim with a gentle shake of her head. 

"No, Mr. Tibbetts, it is awfully kind of you, but we do not wantanything like that. The way we expect to raise a lot of money is byselling the photographs of celebrities, " she said. 

"The photographs of celebrities?" repeated Bones. "But, my dear youngmiss, I haven't had my photograph taken for years. "

Hamilton gasped. He might have gasped again at what followed, but forthe fact that he had got a little beyond the gasping stage. 

The girl was untying her portfolio, and now she produced something andlaid it on the desk before Bones. 

"How clever of you to guess!" she murmured. "Yes, it is a portrait ofyou we want to sell. "

Bones stared dumbfounded at a picture of himself--evidently a snapshottaken with a press camera--leaving the building. And, moreover, it wasa flattering picture, for there was a stern frown of resolution onBones's pictured face, which, for some esoteric reason, pleased him. The picture was mounted rather in than on cardboard, for it was in asunken mount, and beneath the portrait was a little oblong slip of paleblue paper. 

Bones gazed and glowed. Neatly printed above the picture were thewords: "Our Captains of Industry. III. --Augustus Tibbetts, Esq. (Schemes Limited). "

Bones read this with immense satisfaction. He wondered who were thetwo men who could be placed before him, but in his generous mood wasprepared to admit that he might come third in the list of London'smerchant princes. 

"Deuced flattering, dear old thing, " he murmured. "Hamilton, old boy, come and look at this. "

Hamilton crossed to the desk, saw, and wondered. 

"Not so bad, " said Bones, dropping his head to one side and regardingthe picture critically. "Not at all bad, dear old thing. You've seenme in that mood, I think, old Ham. "

"What is the mood?" said Hamilton innocently. "Indigestion?"

The girl laughed. 

"Let's have a little light on the subject, " said Bones. "Switch on theexpensive old electricity, Ham. "

"Oh, no, " said the girl quickly. "I don't think so. If you saw thepicture under the light, you'd probably think it wasn't good enough, and then I should have made my journey in vain. Spare me that, Mr. Tibbetts!"

Mr. Tibbetts giggled. At that moment the Being re-appeared. Marguerite Whitland, chief and only stenographer to the firm of SchemesLimited, and Bones beckoned her. 

"Just cast your eye over this, young miss, " he said. "What do youthink of it?"

The girl came round the group, looked at the picture, and nodded. 

"Very nice, " she said, and then she looked at the girl. 

"Selling it for a charity, " said Bones carelessly. "Some silly oldjosser will put it up in his drawing-room, I suppose. You know, Ham, dear old thing, I never can understand this hero-worship business. Andnow, my young and philanthropic collector, what do you want me to do?Give you permission? It is given. "

"I want you to give me your autograph. Sign down there, "--she pointedto a little space beneath the picture--"and just let me sell it forwhat I can get. "

"With all the pleasure in life, " said Bones. 

He picked up his long plumed pen and splashed his characteristicsignature in the space indicated. 

And then Miss Marguerite Whitland did a serious thing, an amazinglyaudacious thing, a thing which filled Bones's heart with horror anddismay. 

Before Bones could lift the blotting pad, her forefinger had droppedupon the signature and had been drawn across, leaving nothing more thanan indecipherable smudge. 

"My dear old typewriter!" gasped Bones. "My dear old miss! Confoundit all! Hang it all, I say! Dear old thing!"

"You can leave this picture, madam----"

"Miss, " murmured Bones from force of habit. Even in his agitation hecould not resist the temptation to interrupt. 

"You can leave this picture, Miss Stegg, " said the girl coolly. "Mr. Tibbetts wants to add it to his collection. "

Miss Stegg said nothing. 

She had risen to her feet, her eyes fixed on the girl's face, and, withno word of protest or explanation, she turned and walked swiftly fromthe office. Hamilton opened the door, noting the temporary suspensionof the undulatory motion. 

When she had gone, they looked at one another, or, rather, they lookedat the girl, who, for her part, was examining the photograph. She tooka little knife from the desk before Bones and inserted it into thethick cardboard mount, and ripped off one of the layers of cardboard. And so Bones's photograph was exposed, shorn of all mounting. But, what was more important, beneath his photograph was a cheque on theThird National Bank, which was a blank cheque and bearing Bones'sundeniable signature in the bottom right-hand corner--the signature wasdecipherable through the smudge. 

Bones stared. 

"Most curious thing I've ever seen in my life, dear old typewriter, " hesaid. "Why, that's the very banking establishment I patronise. "

"I thought it might be, " said the girl. 

And then it dawned upon Bones, and he gasped. 

"Great Moses!" he howled--there is no prettier word for it. "Thatnaughty, naughty, Miss Thing-a-me-jig was making me sign a blankcheque! My autograph! My sacred aunt! Autograph on a cheque... "

Bones babbled on as the real villainy of the attempt upon his financesgradually unfolded before his excited vision. 

Explanations were to follow. The girl had seen a paragraph warningpeople against giving their autographs, and the police had evencirculated a rough description of two "well-dressed women" who, on onepretext or another, were securing from the wealthy, but the unwise, specimens of their signatures. 

"My young and artful typewriter, " said Bones, speaking with emotion, "you have probably saved me from utter ruin, dear old thing. Goodnessonly knows what might have happened, or where I might have beensleeping to-night, my jolly old Salvationist, if your beady little eyehadn't penetrated like a corkscrew through the back of that naughty oldlady's neck and read her evil intentions. "

"I don't think it was a matter of my beady eye, " said the girl, withoutany great enthusiasm for the description, "as my memory. "

"I can't understand it, " said Bones, puzzled. "She came in a beautifulcar----"

"Hired for two hours for twenty-five shillings, " said the girl. 

"But she was so beautifully dressed. She had a chinchilla coat----"

"Imitation beaver, " said Miss Marguerite Whitland, who had fewillusions. "You can get them for fifteen pounds at any of the West Endshops. "

It was a very angry Miss Bertha Stegg who made her way in some haste toPimlico. She shared a first-floor suite with a sister, and she burstunceremoniously into her relative's presence, and the elder Miss Stegglooked round with some evidence of alarm. 

"What's wrong?" she asked. 

She was a tall, bony woman, with a hard, tired face, and lacked most ofher sister's facial charm. 

"Turned down, " said Bertha briefly. "I had the thing signed, and thena----" (one omits the description she gave of Miss Marguerite Whitland, which was uncharitable) "smudged the thing with her fingers. "

"She tumbled to it, eh?" said Clara. "Has she put the splits on you?"

"I shouldn't think so, " said Bertha, throwing off her coat and her hat, and patting her hair. "I got away too quickly, and I came on by thecar. "

"Will he report it to the police?"

"He's not that kind. Doesn't it make you mad, Clara, to think thatthat fool has a million to spend? Do you know what he's done? Madeperhaps a hundred thousand pounds in a couple of days! Wouldn't thatrile you?"

They discussed Bones in terms equally unflattering. They likened Bonesto all representatives of the animal world whose characteristics areextreme foolishness, but at last they came into a saner, calmer frameof mind. 

Miss Clara Stegg seated herself on the frowsy sofa--indispensable to aPimlico furnished flat--and, with her elbow on one palm and her chin onanother, reviewed the situation. She was the brains of a littlecombination which had done so much to distress and annoy susceptiblefinanciers in the City of London. (The record of the Stegg sisters maybe read by the curious, or, at any rate, by as many of the curious ashave the _entrée_ to the Record Department of Scotland Yard. )

The Steggs specialised in finance, and operated exclusively in highfinancial circles. There was not a fluctuation of the market whichMiss Clara Stegg did not note; and when Rubber soared sky-high, orSteel Preferred sagged listlessly, she knew just who was going to beaffected, and just how approachable they were. 

During the War the Stegg sisters had opened a new department, so tospeak, dealing with Government contracts, and the things which theyknew about the incomes of Government contractors the average surveyorof taxes would have given money to learn. 

"It was my mistake, Bertha, " she said at last, "though in a sense itwasn't. I tried him simply, because he's simple. If you worksomething complicated on a fellow like that, you're pretty certain toget him guessing. "

She went out of the room, and presently returned with four ordinaryexercise-books, one of which she opened at a place where a page wascovered with fine writing, and that facing was concealed by a sheet ofletter-paper which had been pasted on to it. The letter-paper bore theembossed heading of Schemes Limited, the epistle had reference to arequest for an autograph which Bones had most graciously granted. 

The elder woman looked at the signature, biting her nether lip. 

"It is almost too late now. What is the time?" she asked. 

"Half-past three, " replied her sister. 

Miss Stegg shook her head. 

"The banks are closed, and, anyway----"

She carried the book to a table, took a sheet of paper and a pen, and, after a close study of Bones's signature, she wrote it, at firstawkwardly, then, after about a dozen attempts, she produced a copywhich it was difficult to tell apart from the original. 

"Really, Clara, you're a wonder, " said her sister admiringly. 

Clara made no reply. She sat biting the end of the pen. 

"I hate the idea of getting out of London and leaving him with all thatmoney, Bertha, " she said. "I wonder----" She turned to her sister. "Go out and get all the evening newspapers, " she said. "There's boundto be something about him, and I might get an idea. "

There was much about Bones in the papers the younger girl brought, andin one of these journals there was quite an important interview, whichgave a sketch of Bones's life, his character, and his generalappearance. Clara read this interview very carefully. 

"It says he's spent a million, but I know that's a lie, " she said. "I've been watching that jute deal for a long time, and it's nearerhalf the sum. " She frowned. "I wonder----" she said. 

"Wonder what?" asked the younger girl impatiently. "What's the good ofwondering? The only thing we can do is to clear out. "

Again Clara went from the room and came back with an armful ofdocuments. These she laid on the table, and the girl, looking down, saw that they were for the main part blank contracts. Clara turnedthem over and over until at last she came to one headed "Ministry ofSupplies. "

"This'd be the form, " she said. "It is the same that Stevenhowe had. "

She was mentioning the name of a middle-aged man, who, quiteunwittingly and most unwillingly, had contributed to her very handsomebank balance. She scanned the clauses through, and then flung down thecontract in disgust. 

"There's nothing mentioned about a deposit, " she said, "and, anyway, Idoubt very much whether I could get it back, even on his signature. "

A quarter of an hour later Miss Clara Stegg took up the contract againand read the closely-printed clauses very carefully. When she hadfinished she said:

"I just hate the idea of that fellow making money. "

"You've said that before, " said her sister tartly. 

At six o'clock that evening Bones went home. At nine o'clock he wassitting in his sitting-room in Clarges Street--a wonderful place, though small, of Eastern hangings and subdued lights--when Hamiltonburst in upon him; and Bones hastily concealed the poem he was writingand thrust it under his blotting-pad. It was a good poem and goingwell. 

It began:

 How very sweet Is Marguerite!

And Bones was, not unreasonably, annoyed at this interruption to hismuse. 

As to Hamilton, he was looking ill. 

"Bones, " said Hamilton quietly, "I've had a telegram from my pal inDundee. Shall I read it?"

"Dear old thing, " said Bones, with an irritated "tut-tut, " "really, dear old creature, at this time of night--your friends inDundee--really, my dear old boy----"

"Shall I read it?" said Hamilton, with sinister calm. 

"By all means, by all means, " said Bones, waving an airy hand andsitting back with resignation written on every line of his countenance. 

"Here it is, " said Hamilton. "It begins 'Urgent. '"

"That means he's in a devil of a hurry, old thing, " said Bones, nodding. 

"And it goes on to say, " said Hamilton, ignoring the interruption. "'Your purchase at the present price of jute is disastrous. Jute willnever again touch the figure at which your friend tendered, Ministryhave been trying to find a mug for years to buy their jute, half ofwhich is spoilt by bad warehousing, as I could have told you, and Ireckon you have made a loss of exactly half the amount you have paid. '"

Bones had opened his eyes and was sitting up. 

"Dear old Job's comforter, " he said huskily. 

"Wait a bit, " said Hamilton, "I haven't finished yet, " and went on:"'Strongly advise you cancel your sale in terms of Clause 7 Ministrycontract. ' That's all, " said Hamilton. 

"Oh, yes, " said Bones feebly, as he ran his finger inside his collar, "that's all!"

"What do you think, Bones?" said Hamilton gently. 

"Well, dear old cloud on the horizon, " said Bones, clasping his bonyknee, "it looks remarkably like serious trouble for B. Ones, Esquire. It does indeed. Of course, " he said, "you're not in this, old Ham. This was a private speculation----"

"Rot!" said Hamilton contemptuously. "You're never going to try adirty trick like that on me? Of course I'm in it. If you're in it, I'm in it. "

Bones opened his mouth to protest, but subsided feebly. He looked atthe clock, sighed, and lowered his eyes again. 

"I suppose it's too late to cancel the contract now?"

Bones nodded. 

"Twenty-four hours, poor old victim, " he said miserably, "expired atfive p. M. "

"So that's that, " said Hamilton. 

Walking across, he tapped his partner on the shoulder. 

"Well, Bones, it can't be helped, and probably our pal in Dundee hastaken an extravagant view. "

"Not he, " said Bones, "not he, dear old cheerer. Well, we shall haveto cut down expenses, move into a little office, and start again, dearold Hamilton. "

"It won't be so bad as that. "

"Not quite so bad as that, " admitted Bones. "But one thing, " he saidwith sudden energy, "one thing, dear old thing, I'll never part with. Whatever happens, dear old boy, rain or shine, sun or moon, stars orany old thing like that"--he was growing incoherent--"I will neverleave my typewriter, dear old thing. I will never desert her--never, never, never, never, never!

He turned up in the morning, looking and speaking chirpily. Hamilton, who had spent a restless night, thought he detected signs of similarrestlessness in Bones. 

Miss Marguerite Whitland brought him his letters, and he went over themlistlessly until he came to one large envelope which bore on its flapthe all-too-familiar seal of the Ministry. Bones looked at it and madea little face. 

"It's from the Ministry, " said the girl. 

Bones nodded. 

"Yes, my old notetaker, " he said, "my poor young derelict, castout"--his voice shook--"through the rapacious and naughty oldspeculations of one who should have protected your jolly old interests, it is from the Ministry. "

"Aren't you going to open it?" she asked. 

"No, dear young typewriter, I am not, " Bones said firmly. "It's allabout the beastly jute, telling me to take it away. Now, where thedickens am I going to put it, eh? Never talk to me about jute, " hesaid violently. "If I saw a jute tree at this moment, I'd simply hatethe sight of it!"

She looked at him in astonishment. 

"Why, whatever's wrong?" she asked anxiously. 

"Nothing, " said Bones. "Nothing, " he added brokenly. "Oh, nothing, dear young typewriting person. "

She paused irresolutely, then picked up the envelope and cut open theflap. 

Remember that she knew nothing, except that Bones had made a bigpurchase, and that she was perfectly confident--such was her sublimefaith in Augustus Tibbetts--that he would make a lot of money as aresult of that purchase. 

Therefore the consternation on her face as she read its contents. 

"Why, " she stammered, "you've never done---- Whatever made you dothat?"

"Do what?" said Bones hollowly. "What made me do it? Greed, dear oldsister, just wicked, naughty greed. "

"But I thought, " she said, bewildered, "You were going to make so muchout of this deal?"

"Ha, ha, " said Bones without mirth. 

"But weren't you?" she asked. 

"I don't think so, " said Bones gently. 

"Oh! So that was why you cancelled the contract?"

Hamilton jumped to his feet. 

"Cancelled the contract?" he said incredulously. 

"Cancelled the contract?" squeaked Bones. "What a naughty oldstory-teller you are!"

"But you have, " said the girl. "Here's a note from the Ministry, regretting that you should have changed your mind and taken advantageof Clause Seven. The contract was cancelled at four forty-nine. "

Bones swallowed something. 

"This is spiritualism, " he said solemnly. "I'll never say a wordagainst jolly old Brigham Young after this!"

In the meantime two ladies who had arrived in Paris, somewhat weary andbedraggled, were taking their morning coffee outside the Café de laPaix. 

"Anyway, my dear, " said Clara viciously, in answer to her sister'splaint, "we've given that young devil a bit of trouble. Perhaps theywon't renew the contract, and anyway, it'll take a bit of proving thathe did not sign that cancellation I handed in. "

As a matter of fact, Bones never attempted to prove it. 

CHAPTER VII

DETECTIVE BONES

Mr. Harold de Vinne was a large man, who dwelt at the dead end of amassive cigar. 

He was big and broad-shouldered, and automatically jovial. Between thehours of 6 p. M. And 2 a. M. He had earned the name of "good fellow, "which reputation he did his best to destroy between 10 a. M. And 4 p. M. 

He was one of four stout fellows who controlled companies of imposingstability--the kind of companies that have such items in their balancesheets as "Sundry Debtors, £107, 402 12_s_. 7_d_. " People feel, onreading such airy lines, that the company's assets are of suchmagnitude that the sundry debtors are only included as a carelessafterthought. 

Mr. De Vinne was so rich that he looked upon any money which wasn't hisas an illegal possession; and when Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, on anoccasion, stepped in and robbed him of £17, 500, Mr. De Vinne's familydoctor was hastily summoned (figuratively speaking; literally, he hadno family, and swore by certain patent medicines), and straw was spreadbefore the temple of his mind. 

A certain Captain Hamilton, late of H. M. Houssas, but now a partner inthe firm of Tibbetts & Hamilton, Ltd. , after a short, sharp bout ofmalaria, went off to Brighton to recuperate, and to get the whizzynoises out of his head. To him arrived on a morning a special courierin the shape of one Ali, an indubitable Karo boy, but reputedly pureArab, and a _haj_, moreover, entitled to the green scarf of theveritable pilgrimage to Mecca. 

Ali was the body-servant of Augustus Tibbetts, called by his intimates"Bones, " and he was arrayed in the costume which restaurateurs insistis the everyday kit of a true Easterner--especially such Easterners asserve after-dinner coffee. 

Hamilton, not in the best of tempers--malaria leaves you that way--anddazzled by this apparition in scarlet and gold, blinked. 

"O man, " he said testily in the Arabic of the Coast, "why do youwalk-in-the world dressed like a so-and-so?" (You can be very rude inArabic especially in Coast Arabic garnished with certain Swahiliphrases. )

"Sir, " said Ali, "these garmentures are expressly designated byTibbetti. Embellishments of oriferous metal give wealthiness ofappearance to subject, but attract juvenile research and investigation. "

Hamilton glared through the window on to the front, where a small butrepresentative gathering of the juvenile research committee waitedpatiently for the reappearance of one whom in their romantic fashionthey had termed "The Rajah of Bong. "

Hamilton took the letter and opened it. It was, of course, from Bones, and was extremely urgent. Thus it went:

"DEAR OLD PART. , --Ham I've had an offer of Browns you know the big bigBoot shop several boot shop all over London London. Old Browns goingout going out of the bisiness Sindicate trying to buy so I niped in for105, 000 pounds got lock stock and barrill baril. Sindicate awfuly soreawfuley sore. All well here except poor young typewrighter cut herfinger finger sliceing bread doctor says not dangerus. "

Hamilton breathed quickly. He gathered that Bones had bought aboot-shop--even a collection of boot-shops--and he was conscious of thehorrible fact that Bones knew nothing about boots. 

He groaned. He was always groaning, he thought, and seldom with goodreason. 

Bones was in a buying mood. A week before he had bought _The WeeklySunspot_, which was "A Satirical Weekly Review of Human Affairs. " Thepossibilities of that purchase had made Hamilton go hot and moisty. Hehad gone home one evening, leaving Bones dictating a leading articlewhich was a violent attack on the Government of the day, and had comein the following morning to discover that the paper had been resold ata thousand pounds profit to the owners of a rival journal whichdescribed itself as "A Weekly Symposium of Thought and Fancy. "

But Boots ... And £105, 000 ... !

This was serious. Yet there was no occasion for groaning or doubt orapprehension; for, even whilst Hamilton was reading the letter, Boneswas shaking his head violently at Mr. De Vinne, of the Phit-Phine ShoeSyndicate, who had offered him £15, 000 profit on the turn-over. And atthe identical moment that Hamilton was buying his ticket for London, Bones was solemnly shaking hands with the Secretary of the Phit-PhineShoe Syndicate (Mr. De Vinne having violently, even apoplectically, refused to meet Bones) with one hand, and holding in the other a chequewhich represented a profit of £17, 500. It was one of Bones's bigdeals, and reduced Hamilton to a condition of blind confidence in hispartner.... Nevertheless.... 

A week later, Bones, reading his morning paper, reached and passed, without receiving any very violent impression, the information that Mr. John Siker, the well-known private detective, had died at his residenceat Clapham Park. Bones read the item without interest. He was lookingfor bargains--an early morning practice of his because the buying feverwas still upon him. 

Hamilton, sitting at his desk, endeavouring to balance the firm'saccounts from a paying-in book and a cheque-book, the counterfoils ofwhich were only occasionally filled in, heard the staccato "Swindle!... Swindle!" and knew that Bones had reached the pages whereon weredisplayed the prospectuses of new companies. 

He had the firm conviction that all new companies were founded onfrauds and floated by criminals. The offer of seven per cent. Debenture stock moved him to sardonic laughter. The certificates ofeminent chartered accountants brought a meaning little smile to hislips, followed by the perfectly libellous statement that "These peoplewould do anything for money, dear old thing. "

Presently Bones threw down the paper. 

"Nothing, absolutely nothing, " he said, and walked to the door of theouter office, knocked upon it, and disappeared into the sanctum of thelady whom Bones never referred to except in terms of the deepestrespect as his "young typewriter!"

"Young miss, " he said, pausing deferentially at the door, "may I comein?"

She smiled up at him--a proceeding which was generally sufficient tothrow Bones into a pitiful condition of incoherence. But this morningit had only the effect of making him close his eyes as though to shutout a vision too radiant to be borne. 

"Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she asked quickly and anxiously. 

"It's nothing, dear old miss, " said Bones, passing a weary andhypocritical hand across his brow. "Just a fit of the jolly oldstaggers. The fact is, I've been keeping late hours--in fact, dearyoung miss, " he said huskily, "I have been engaged in a wicked oldpursuit--yes, positively naughty.... "

"Oh, Mr. Tibbetts"--she was truly shocked--"I'm awfully sorry! Youreally shouldn't drink--you're so young.... "

"Drink!" said the hurt and astounded Bones. "Dear old slanderer!Poetry!"

He had written sufficient poetry to make a volume--poems which aboundedin such rhymes as "Marguerite, " "Dainty feet, " "Sweet, " "Hard to beat, "and the like. But this she did not know. 

By this time the girl was not only accustomed to these periodicalembarrassments of Bones, but had acquired the knack of switching theconversation to the main line of business. 

"There's a letter from Mr. De Vinne, " she said. 

Bones rubbed his nose and said, "Oh!"

Mr. De Vinne was on his mind rather than on his conscience, for Mr. DeVinne was very angry with Bones, who, as he had said, had "niped" inand had cost Mr. De Vinne £17, 500. 

"It is not a nice letter, " suggested the girl. 

"Let me see, dear young head-turner, " said Bones firmly. 

The letter called him "Sir, " and went on to speak of the writer's yearsof experience as a merchant of the City of London, in all of which, said the writer, he had never heard of conduct approaching in infamythat of Augustus Tibbetts, Esquire. 

"It has been brought to my recollection" (wrote the infuriated Mr. DeVinne) "that on the day you made your purchase of Browns, I dined atthe Kingsway Restaurant, and that you occupied a table immediatelybehind me. I can only suppose that you overheard a _perfectlyconfidential_" (heavily underscored) "conversation between myself and afellow-director, and utilised the information thus _disgracefully_acquired. "

"Never talk at meals, dear old typewriter, " murmured Bones. "Awfullybad for your jolly young tum--for your indigestion, dear youngkeytapper. "

The letter went on to express the writer's intention of takingvengeance for the "dishonest squeeze" of which he had been the victim. 

Bones looked at his secretary anxiously. The censure of Mr. De Vinneaffected him not at all. The possible disapproval of this lady filledhim with dire apprehension. 

"It's not a nice letter, " said the girl. "Do you want me to answer it?"

"Do I want you to answer it?" repeated Bones, taking courage. "Ofcourse I want you to answer it, my dear old paper-stainer anddecorator. Take these words. "

He paced the room with a terrible frown. 

"Dear old thing, " he began. 

"Do you want me to say 'Dear old thing'?" asked the girl. 

"No, perhaps not, perhaps not, " said Bones. "Start it like this: 'Mydear peevish one----"

The girl hesitated and then wrote down: "Dear Sir. "

"'You are just showing your naughty temper, '" dictated Bones, and addedunnecessarily, "t-e-m-p-e-r. "

It was a practice of his to spell simple words. 

"You are just showing your naughty temper, " he went on, "and I simplyrefuse to have anything more to do with you. You're being simplydisgusting. Need I say more?" added Bones. 

The girl wrote: "Dear Sir, --No useful purpose would be served either inreplying to your letter of to-day's date, or re-opening the discussionon the circumstances of which you complain. "

Bones went back to his office feeling better. Hamilton left early thatafternoon, so that when, just after the girl had said "Good night, " andBones himself was yawning over an evening paper, and there came a rapat the door of the outer office, he was quite alone. 

"Come in!" he yelled, and a young man, dressed in deep mourning, eventually appeared through the door sacred to the use of MissMarguerite Whitland. 

"I'm afraid I've come rather late in the day. "

"I'm afraid you have, dear old thing, " said Bones. "Come and sit down, black one. Deepest sympathy and all that sort of thing. "

The young man licked his lips. His age was about twenty-four, and hehad the appearance of being a semi-invalid, as, indeed, he was. 

"It's rather late to see you on this matter, " he said, "but your namewas only suggested to me about an hour ago. "

Bones nodded. Remember that he was always prepared for a miracle, evenat closing time. 

"My name is Siker, " said the visitor. 

"And a jolly good name, too, " said Bones, dimly conscious of the factthat he had heard this name mentioned before. 

"You probably saw the account of my father's death. It was in thismorning's newspaper, though he died last week, " said Mr. Siker. 

Bones screwed up his forehead. 

"I remember that name, " he said. "Now, let me think. Why, ofcourse--Siker's Detective Agency. "

It was the young man's turn to nod. 

"That's right, sir, " he said. "John Siker was my father. I'm his onlyson. "

Bones waited. 

"I've heard it said, Mr. Tibbetts, " said the young man--"at least, ithas been represented to me--that you are on the look-out for likelybusinesses that show a profit. "

"That's right, " agreed Bones; "that show me a big profit, " he added. 

"Well, Siker's Detective Agency has made two thousand a year clear fortwenty years, " said the young man. "We've got one of the best lists ofclients in the kingdom, and almost every big business man in the Cityis on our list. With a little more attention than my father has beenable to give to it for the last two years, there's a fortune in it. "

Bones was sitting upright now, his eyes shining. The amazingpossibilities of such an acquisition were visible to his romantic eye. 

"You want to sell it, my poor old Sherlock?" he demanded, then, remembering the part he was called upon to play, shook his head. "No, no, old thing. Deeply sorry and all that sort of thing, but it can'tbe done. It's not my line of business at all--not, " he added, "that Idon't know a jolly sight more about detectivising than a good many ofthese clever ones. But it's really not my game. What did you want forit?"

"Well, " said the young man, hesitating, "I thought that three years'purchase would be a bargain for the man who bought it. "

"Six thousand pounds, " said Bones. 

"Yes, " agreed the other. "Of course, I won't ask you to buy the thingblindfolded. You can put the accounts in the hands of your lawyer oryour accountant, and you will find that what I have said is true--thatmy father took two thousand a year out of his business for years. It'spossible to make it four thousand. And as to running it, there arethree men who do all the work--or, rather, one, Hilton, who's in chargeof the office and gives the other fellows their instructions. "

"But why sell it, my sad old improvidence?" said Bones. "Why chuckaway two thousand a year for six thousand cash?"

"Because I'm not well enough to carry it on, " said young Mr. Siker, after a moment's hesitation. "And, besides, I can't be bothered. Itinterferes, with my other profession--I'm a musician. "

"And a jolly good profession, too, " said Bones, shaking hands with himacross the table. "I'll sleep on this. Give me your address and theaddress of your accountants, and I'll come over and see you in themorning. "

Hamilton was at his desk the next morning at ten o'clock. Bones didnot arrive until eleven, and Bones was monstrously preoccupied. WhenHamilton saluted him with a cheery "Good morning, " Bones returned agrave and non-committal nod. Hamilton went on with his work until hebecame conscious that somebody was staring at him, and, looking up, caught Bones in the act. 

"What the devil are you looking at?" asked Hamilton. 

"At your boots, " was the surprising reply. 

"My boots?" Hamilton pulled them back through the kneehole of the deskand looked at them. "What's the matter with the boots?"

"Mud-stains, old carelessness, " said Bones tersely. "You've come fromTwickenham this morning. "

"Of course I've come from Twickenham. That's where I live, " saidHamilton innocently. "I thought you knew that. "

"I should have known it, " said Bones, with great gravity, "even if Ihadn't known it, so to speak. You may have observed, my dear Hamilton, that the jolly old mud of London differs widely--that is to say, isremarkably different. For instance, the mud of Twickenham is differentfrom the mud of Balham. There's what you might call a subtledifference, dear junior partner, which an unimaginative old rascal likeyou wouldn't notice. Now, the mud of Peckham, " said Bones, waving hisforefinger, "is distinguished by a certain darkness----"

"Wait a bit, " said Hamilton. "Have you bought a mud business orsomething?"

"No, " said Bones. 

"And yet this conversation seems familiar to me, " mused Hamilton. "Proceed with your argument, good gossip. "

"My argument, " said Bones, "is that you have Twickenham mud on yourboots, therefore you come from Twickenham. It is evident that on yourway to the station you stopped to buy a newspaper, that something wason your mind, something made you very thoughtful--something on yourjolly old conscience, I'll bet!"

"How do you know that?" asked Hamilton. 

"There's your _Times_ on the table, " said Bones triumphantly, "unopened. "

"Quite true, " said Hamilton; "I bought it just before I came into theoffice. "

"H'm!" said Bones. "Well, I won't deceive you, dear old partner. I'vebought Siker's. "

Hamilton put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. 

"Who's Siker's?"

"Siker's Detective Agency, " began Bones, "is known from one end----"

"Oh, I see. Whew!" whistled Hamilton. "You were doing a bit ofdetecting!"

Bones smirked. 

"Got it at once, my dear old person, " he said. "You know mymethods----"

Hamilton's accusing eye met his, and Bones coughed. 

"But what on earth do you expect to do with a detective agency, Bones?"asked Hamilton, strolling across and lighting a cigarette. "That's atype of business there isn't any big demand for. And how is it goingto affect you personally? You don't want your name associated withthat sort of thing. "

Bones explained. It was a property he could "sit on. " Bones hadalways been looking for such a business. The management was capable ofcarrying on, and all that Bones need do was to sit tight and draw adividend. 

As to his name, he had found a cunning solution to that difficulty. 

"I take it over, by arrangement with the lawyer in the name of 'Mr. Senob, ' and I'll bet you won't guess, dear old Ham, how I got thatname!"

"It's 'Bones' spelt backwards, " said Hamilton patiently. "You triedthat bit of camouflage on me years ago. "

Bones sniffed disappointedly and went on. 

For once he was logical, brief in his explanation, and convincing. YetHamilton was not altogether convinced. He was waiting for theinevitable "but, " and presently it came. 

"But of course I'm not going to leave it entirely alone, old Ham, " saidBones, shrugging his shoulders at the absurdity of such a suggestion. "The business can be doubled if a man with a capable, up-to-dateconception of modern crime----"

Hamilton made a hooting noise, derisive and insulting. 

"Meaning you?" he said, at the conclusion of his lamentable exhibition. 

"Meaning me, Ham, my fat old sceptic, " said Bones gently. "I don'tthink, dear old officer, you quite realise just what I know aboutcriminal investigation. "

"You silly ass, " said Hamilton, "detective agencies don't criminallyinvestigate. That's done by the real police. Detective agencies aremerely employed by suspicious wives to follow their husbands. "

"Exactly, " said Bones, nodding. "And that is just where I come in. You see, I did a little bit of work last night--rather a pretty littlebit of work. " He took a slip of paper from his pocket. "You dined atthe Criterion at half-past eight with a tall, fair lady--a jolly olddear she was too, old boy, and I congratulate you most heartily--namedVera. "

Hamilton's face went red. 

"You left the restaurant at ten past nine, and entered cab No. 667432. Am I right, sir?"

"Do you mean to tell me, " exploded Hamilton, "that you were watchingme?"

Bones nodded. 

"I picked you up, old thing, outside the Piccadilly Tube. I shadowedyou to the theatre. I followed you home. You got a taxi--No. 297431--and you were an awful long time before you got out when youreached the lady's destination--an awful long time, " said Bonesemphatically. "What you could find to talk about after the cab haddrawn up at the dear old ancestral home of Vera----"

"Bones, " said Hamilton awfully. "I think you've gone far enough. "

"I thought you'd gone a bit too far, dear old thing, I did really, "said Bones, shaking his head reprovingly. "I watched you verycarefully. "

He danced, with a little squeak of joy, into the office of hisbeautiful secretary, leaving a very red and a pardonably annoyedHamilton breathing heavily. 

Bones went to the office of Siker's Detective Agency early the nextmorning. He went, it may be remarked in passing, though these detailscan only be interesting to the psychologist, wearing the darkest of hisdark suits and a large black wideawake hat. There was a certainfurtiveness in his movements between the taxicab and the entrance ofthe office, which might suggest to anybody who had taken the trouble toobserve him that he was an escaping bank-robber. 

Siker's had spacious offices and a small staff. Only Hilton, themanager, and a clerk were in when Bones presented his card. He wasimmediately conducted by Mr. Hilton to a very plain inner office, surrounded with narrow shelves, which in turn were occupied byinnumerable little deed boxes. 

Mr. Hilton was a sober-faced man of fifty-five, sallow and unhappy. His tone was funereal and deliberate, his eyes steady and remorseless. 

"Sit down, Mr. Senob, " he said hollowly. "I have a message from thelawyers, and I presume I am welcoming to this establishment the newproprietor who has taken the place of my revered chief, whom I havefaithfully served for twenty-nine years. "

Bones closed his eyes and listened as to an address of welcome. 

"Personally, " said Mr. Hilton, "I think that the sale of this businessis a great mistake on the part of the Siker family. The Sikers havebeen detectives for four generations, " he said with a relish of anantiquarian. "George Siker first started work as an investigator in1814 in this identical building. For thirty-five years he conductedSiker's Confidential Bureau, and was succeeded by his son James thegrandfather of the late John George for twenty-three years----"

"Quite so, quite so, " said Bones. "Poor old George! Well, well, wecan't live for ever, dear old chief of staff. Now, the thing is, howto improve this jolly old business. "

He looked around the dingy apartment without enthusiasm. 

Bones had visitors that morning, many visitors. They were not, as hehad anticipated, veiled ladies or cloaked dukes, nor did they pour intohis discreet ears the stories of misspent lives. 

There was Mr. Carlo Borker, of Borker's Confidential Enquiry Bureau, agross man in a top hat, who complained bitterly that old man Siker hadpractically and to all intents and purposes offered him an option ofthe business years ago. 

It was a one-sided conversation. 

"I says to him: 'Siker, if you ever want to sell out' ... He says tome: 'Borker, my boy, you've only to offer me a reasonable figure' ... I says to him: 'Now, Siker, don't ever let anybody else get thisbusiness.... '"

Then there was ex-Inspector Stellingworth, of Stellingworth's DetectiveCorps, a gloomy man, who painted in the blackest colours thedifficulties and tragedies of private investigation, yet seemed willingenough to assume the burden of Siker's Agency, and give Bones athousand pounds profit on his transaction. 

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts spent three deliciously happy days inreorganising the business. He purchased from the local gunsmith anumber of handcuffs, which were festooned upon the wall behind his deskand secured secretly--since he did not think that the melancholy Mr. Hilton would approve--a large cardboard box filled to the brim withadjustable beards of every conceivable hue, from bright scarlet tomouse colour. 

He found time to relate to a sceptical Hamilton something of hisachievements. 

"Wonderful case to-day, dear old boy, " he said enthusiastically on thethird evening. "A naughty old lady has been flirting with a very, verynaughty old officer. Husband tremendously annoyed. How that man lovesthat woman!"

"Which man?" said Hamilton cynically. 

"I refer to my client, " said Bones not without dignity. 

"Look here, Bones, " said Hamilton with great seriousness, "do you thinkthis is a very nice business you are in? Personally, I think it'simmoral. "

"What do you mean--immoral?" demanded the indignant Bones. 

"Prying into other people's lives, " said Hamilton. 

"Lives, " retorted the oracular Bones, "are meant to be pried into, dearold thing. An examination of jolly old motives is essential toscientific progress. I feel I am doing a public duty, " he went onvirtuously, "exposing the naughty, chastising the sinful, and all thatsort of thing. "

"But, honestly, " said Hamilton persistently, "do you think it's thegame to chase around collecting purely private details about people'sgoings on?"

"Certainly, " said Bones firmly, "certainly, dear old thing. It's apublic duty. Never let it be written on the fair pages of Thiggumythat a Tibbetts shrank back when the call of patriotism--all that sortof thing--you know what I mean?"

"I don't, " said Hamilton. 

"Well, you're a jolly old dense one, " said Bones. "And let me say hereand now"--he rammed his bony knuckles on the table and withdrew themwith an "Ouch!" to suck away the pain--"let me tell you that, as theLatin poet said, '_Ad What's-his name, ad Thiggumy_. ' 'Everythinghuman's frightfully interesting'!"

Bones turned up at his detective office the next morning, full of zeal, and Hilton immediately joined him in his private office. 

"Well, we finish one case to-day, I think, " said Hilton withsatisfaction. "It has been very hard trailing him, but I got a goodman on the job, and here's the record. "

He held in his hand a sheaf of papers. 

"Very good, " said Bones. "Excellent! I hope we shall bring themalefactor to justice. "

"He's not exactly a malefactor, " demurred Hilton. "It is a job we weredoing for one of our best clients. "

"Excellent, excellent!" murmured Bones. "And well we've done it, I'msure. " He leant back in his chair and half closed his eyes. "Tell mewhat you have discovered. "

"This man's a bit of a fool in some ways, " said Hilton. 

"Which man--the client?"

"No, the fellow we've been trailing. "

"Yes, yes, " said Bones. "Go on. "

"In fact, I wonder that Mr. De Vinne bothered about him. "

"De Vinne?" said Bones sitting up. "Harold de Vinne, the moneyed one?"

"That's him. He's one of our oldest customers, " said Hilton. 

"Indeed, " said Bones, this time without any enthusiasm at all. 

"You see, a man did him in the eye, " explained Mr. Hilton, "swindledhim, and all that sort of thing. Well, I think we have got enough tomake this chap look silly. "

"Oh, yes, " said Bones politely. "What have you got?"

"Well, it appears, " said Hilton, "that this chap is madly in love withhis typist. "

"Which chap?" said Bones. 

"The fellow who did Mr. De Vinne in the eye, " replied the patient Mr. Hilton. "He used to be an officer on the West Coast of Africa, and wasknown as Bones. His real name is Tibbetts. "

"Oh yes, " said Bones. 

"Well, we've found out all about him, " continued Hilton. "He's got aflat in Jermyn Street, and this girl of his, this typist girl, dineswith him. She's not a bad-looking girl, mind you. "

Bones rose to his feet, and there was in his face a terrible look. 

"Hilton, " he said, "do you mean that you have been shadowing aperfectly innocent man and a charming, lovely old typewriter, thatcouldn't say 'Goo' to a boose?"

Bones was pardonably agitated. 

"Do you mean to tell me that this office descends to this low practiceof prying into the private lives of virtuous gentlemen and typewriters?Shame upon you, Hilton!" His voice shook. "Give me that report!" Hethrust the report into the fire. "Now call up Mr. Borker, and tell himI want to see him on business, and don't disturb me, because I amwriting a letter. "

He pulled a sheet of paper from his stationery rack and wrotefuriously. He hardly stopped to think, he scarcely stopped to spell. His letter was addressed to Mr. De Vinne, and when, on the followingday, Mr. Borker took over the business of Siker's Agency, that eminentfirm of investigators had one client the less. 

CHAPTER VIII

A COMPETENT JUDGE OF POETRY

There were times when Mr. Cresta Morris was called by that name; therewere other moments when he was "Mr. Staleyborn. " His wife, a placidand trusting woman, responded to either name, having implicit faith inthe many explanations which her husband offered to her, the favouriteamongst them being that business men were seldom known by the namesthey were born with. 

Thus the eminent firm of drapers Messrs. Lavender & Rosemary were--orwas--in private life one Isadore Ruhl, and everybody knew that themaker of Morgan's Superfatted Soap--"the soap with foam"--was a certainmember of the House of Lords whose name was not Morgan. 

Mrs. Staleyborn, or Morris, had a daughter who ran away from home andbecame the secretary to Augustus Tibbetts, Managing Director of SchemesLimited, and there were odd moments of the day when Mrs. Staleybornfelt vaguely uneasy about her child's future. She had often, indeed, shed tears between five o'clock in the afternoon and seven o'clock inthe evening, which as everybody knows, is the most depressing time ofthe day. 

She was, however, one of those persons who are immensely comforted bythe repetition of ancient saws which become almost original every timethey are applied, and one of these sayings was "Everything is for thebest. " She believed in miracles, and had reason, for she received herweekly allowance from her erratic husband with monotonous regularityevery Saturday morning. 

This is a mere digression to point the fact that Mr. Morris was knownby many names. He was called "Cress, " and "Ike, " and "Tubby, " and"Staley, " according to the company in which he found himself. 

One evening in June he found himself in the society of friends whocalled him by names which, if they were not strictly original, werecertainly picturesque. One of these companions was a Mr. Webber, whohad worked more swindles with Morris than had any other partner, andthe third, and most talkative, was a gentleman named Seepidge, ofSeepidge & Soomes, printers to the trade. 

Mr. Seepidge was a man of forty-five, with a well-used face. It wasone of those faces which look different from any other angle than thatfrom which it is originally seen. It may be said, too, that hiscolouring was various. As he addressed Mr. Morris, it varied betweenpurple and blue. Mrs. Morris was in the habit of addressing herhusband by endearing titles. Mr. Seepidge was not addressing Mr. Morris in a way which, by any stretch of imagination, could bedescribed as endearing. 

"Wait a bit, Lew, " pleaded Mr. Morris. "Don't let's quarrel. Accidents will occur in the best of regulated families. "

"Which you're not, " said the explosive Mr. Seepidge, violently. "Igave you two hundred to back Morning Glory in the three o'clock race. You go down to Newbury with my money, and you come back and tell me, after the horse has won, that you couldn't get a bookmaker to take thebet!"

"And I give you the money back, " replied Mr. Morris. 

"You did, " reported Mr. Seepidge meaningly, "and I was surprised tofind there wasn't a dud note in the parcel. No, Ike, youdouble-crossed me. You backed the horse and took the winnings, andcome back to me with a cock-and-bull story about not being able to finda bookmaker. "

Mr. Morris turned a pained face to his companion. 

"Jim, " he said, addressing Mr. Webber, "did you ever in all your borndays hear a pal put it across another pal like that? After the workwe've done all these years together, me and Lew--why, you're like aserpent in the bush, you are really!"

It was a long time, and there was much passing of glasses across alead-covered bar, before Mr. Seepidge could be pacified--the meetingtook place in the private bar of "The Bread and Cheese, " CamdenTown--but presently he turned from the reproachful into the melancholystage, explained the bad condition of business, what with the paperbills and wages bills he had to pay, and hinted ominously at bankruptcy. 

In truth, the firm of Seepidge was in a bad way. The police hadrecently raided the premises and nipped in the bud a very promisingorder for five hundred thousand sweepstake tickets, which were beingprinted surreptitiously, for Mr. Seepidge dealt in what is colloquiallyknown as "snide printing. "

Whether Mr. Cresta Morris had indeed swindled his partner of manycrimes, and had backed Morning Glory at a remunerative price for hisown profit, is a painful question which need not be too closelyexamined. It is certain that Seepidge was in a bad way, and as Mr. Morris told himself with admirable philosophy, even if he had won apacket of money, a thousand or so would not have been sufficient to getMr. Seepidge out of the cart. 

"Something has got to be done, " said Mr. Cresta Morris briskly. 

"Somebody, " corrected the taciturn Webber. "The question is, who?"

"I tell you, boys, I'm in a pretty bad way, " said Seepidge earnestly. "I don't think, even if I'd backed that winner, I could have got out oftrouble. The business is practically in pawn; I'm getting a policeinspection once a week. I've got a job now which may save my bacon, ifI can dodge the 'splits'--an order for a million leaflets for a Hamburglottery house. And I want the money--bad! I owe about three thousandpounds. "

"I know where there's money for asking, " said Webber, and they lookedat him. 

His interesting disclosure was not to follow immediately, for they hadreached closing-time, and were respectfully ushered into the street. 

"Come over to my club, " said Mr. Seepidge. 

His club was off the Tottenham Court Road, and its membership wasartistic. It had changed its name after every raid that had been madeupon it, and the fact that the people arrested had described themselvesas artists and actresses consolidated the New Napoli Club as one of theartistic institutions of London. 

"Now, where's this money?" asked Seepidge, when they were seated rounda little table. 

"There's a fellow called Bones----" began Mr. Webber. 

"Oh, him!" interrupted Mr. Morris, in disgust. "Good Heavens! You'renot going to try him again!"

"We'd have got him before if you hadn't been so clever, " said Webber. "I tell you, he's rolling in money. He's just moved into a new flat inDevonshire Street that can't cost him less than six hundred a year. "

"How do you know this?" asked the interested Morris. 

"Well, " confessed Webber, without embarrassment, "I've been workingsolo on him, and I thought I'd be able to pull the job off myself. "

"That's a bit selfish, " reproached Morris, shaking his head. "I didn'texpect this from you, Webbie. "

"Never mind what you expected, " said Webber, unperturbed. "I tell youI tried it. I've been nosing round his place, getting information fromhis servants, and I've learned a lot about him. Mind you, " said Mr. Webber, "I'm not quite certain how to use what I know to make money. If I'd known that, I shouldn't have told you two chaps anything aboutit. But I've got an idea that this chap Bones is a bit sensitive on acertain matter, and Cully Tring, who's forgotten more about human menthan I ever knew, told me that, if you can get a mug on his sensitivespot, you can bleed him to death. Now, three heads are better thanone, and I think, if we get together, we'll lift enough stuff from Mr. Blinking Bones to keep us at Monte Carlo for six months. "

"Then, " said Mr. Seepidge impressively, "let us put our 'eads together. "

In emotional moments that enterprising printer was apt to overlook thebox where the little "h's" were kept. 

Bones had indeed moved into the intellectual atmosphere of DevonshireStreet. He had hired a flat of great beauty and magnificence, withlofty rooms and distempered walls and marble chimney-pieces, for allthe world like those rooms in the catalogues of furniture dealers whichso admirably show off the fifty-pound drawing-room suite offered on theeasiest terms. 

"My dear old thing, " he said, describing his new splendours toHamilton, "you ought to see the jolly old bathroom!"

"What do you want a bath for?" asked Hamilton innocently. "You've onlygot the place for three years. "

"Now, dear old thing, don't be humorous, " said Bones severely. "Don'tbe cheap, dear old comic one. "

"The question is, " said Hamilton, "why the dickens do you want a newflat? Your old flat was quite a palatial establishment. Are youthinking of setting up housekeeping?"

Bones turned very red. In his embarrassment he stood first upon oneleg and then the other, lifting his eyebrows almost to the roof of hishead to let in his monocle, and lifted them as violently to let it outagain. 

"Don't pry, don't pry, dear old Ham, " he said testily. "Great Heavensand Moses! Can't a fellow take a desirable flat, with all modernconveniences, in the most fashionable part of the West End, and allthat sort of thing, without exciting the voice of scandal, dear oldthing? I'm surprised at you, really I am, Ham. I am, Ham, " herepeated. "That sounds good, " he said, brightening up. "Am Ham!"

"But what is the scheme?" persisted Hamilton. 

"A bargain, a bargain, dear old officer, " said Bones, hurriedly, andproceeded to the next business. 

That next business included the rejection of several very promisingoffers which had arrived from different directors of companies, andpeople. Bones was known as a financier. People who wanted otherpeople to put money into things invariably left Bones to the last, because they liked trying the hard things first. The inventor andpatentee of the reaping machine that could be worked by the farmer inhis study, by means of push keys, was sure, sooner or later, to meet aman who scratched his chin and said:

"Hard luck, but why don't you try that man Tibbetts? He's got anoffice somewhere around. You'll find it in the telephone book. He'sgot more money than he knows what to do with, and your invention is thevery thing he'd finance. "

As a rule, it was the very thing that Bones did not finance. 

Companies that required ten thousand pounds for the extension of theirpremises, and the fulfilment of the orders which were certain to comenext year, drafted through their secretaries the most wonderfulletters, offering Bones a seat on their board, or even two seats, inexchange for his autograph on the south-east corner of a cheque. Theseletters usually began somehow like this:

"At a moment when the eyes of the world are turned upon Great Britain, and when her commercial supremacy is threatened, it behoves us all toincrease production.... " And usually there was some reference to "thepatriotic duty of capital. "

There was a time when these appeals to his better nature would havemoved Bones to amazing extravagance, but happily that time was beforehe had any money to speak about. 

For Bones was growing in wisdom and in wiliness as the days passed. Going through the pile of correspondence, he came upon a letter whichhe read thoughtfully, and then read again before he reached to thetelephone and called a number. In the City of London there was abusiness-like agency which supplied him with a great deal of usefulinformation, and it was to these gentlemen that he addressed his query:"Who are Messrs. Seepidge & Soomes?"

He waited for some time with the receiver at his ear, a far-away lookin his eyes, and then the reply came:

"A little firm of printers run by a rascal named Seepidge, who has beentwice bankrupt and is now insolvent. His firm has been visited by thepolice for illegal printing several times, and the firm is in such alow condition that it has a job to pay its wages bill. "

"Thank you, " said Bones. "Thank you, dear old commercial guardian. What is the business worth?"

"It's worth your while to keep away from it, " said the humorous reply, and Bones hung up the receiver. 

"Ham, old dear, " he said, and Hamilton looked up. "Suppose, " saidBones, stretching out his legs and fixing his monocle, "suppose, myjolly old accountant and partner, you were offered a business which wasworth"--he paused--"which was worth your while keeping away fromit--that's a pretty good line, don't you think, old literary critic?"

"A very good line, " said Hamilton calmly; "but you have rather aloud-speaking telephone, and I think I have heard the phrase before. "

"Oh, have you?" said Bones by no means abashed. "Still, it's a verygood line. And suppose you were offered this printing business forfifteen thousand pounds, what would you say?"

"It depends on who was present, " said Ham, "and where I was. Forexample, if I were in the gorgeous drawing-room of your wonderful flat, in the splendid presence of your lovely lady wife to be----"

Bones rose and wagged his finger. 

"Is nothing sacred to you, dear old Ham?" he choked. "Are the mosttender emotions, dear old thing, which have ever been experienced byany human being----"

"Oh, shut up, " said Hamilton, "and let's hear about this financialproblem of yours. "

Bones was ruffled, and blinked, and it was some time before he couldbring himself back to sordid matters of business. 

"Well, suppose this jolly old brigand offered you his perfectly beastlybusiness for fifteen thousand pounds, what would you do?"

"Send for the police, " said Hamilton. 

"Would you now?" said Bones, as if the idea struck him for the firsttime. "I never have sent for the police you know, and I've had simplyterrible offers put up to me. "

"Or put it in the waste-paper basket, " said Hamilton, and then insurprise: "Why the dickens are you asking all these questions?"

"Why am I asking all these questions?" repeated Bones. "Because, oldthing, I have a hump. "

Hamilton raised incredulous eyebrows. 

"I have what the Americans call a hump. "

"A hump?" said Hamilton, puzzled. "Oh, you mean a 'hunch. '"

"Hump or hunch, it's all the same, " said Bones airily. "But I've gotit. "

"What exactly is your hunch?"

"There's something behind this, " said Bones, tapping a finger solemnlyon the desk. "There's a scheme behind this--there's a swindle--there'sa ramp. Nobody imagines for one moment that a man of my reputationcould be taken in by a barefaced swindle of this character. I think Ihave established in the City of London something of a tradition, " hesaid. 

"You have, " agreed Hamilton. "You're supposed to be the luckiest devilthat ever walked up Broad Street. "

"I never walk up Broad Street, anyway, " said Bones, annoyed. "It is adetestable street, a naughty old street, and I should ride up it--or, at least, I shall in a day or two. "

"Buying a car?" asked Hamilton, interested. 

"I'll tell you about that later, " said Bones evasively, and went on:

"Now, putting two and two together, you know the conclusion I'vereached?"

"Four?" suggested Hamilton. 

Bones, with a shrug ended the conversation then and there, and carriedhis correspondence to the outer office, knocking, as was his wont, until his stenographer gave him permission to enter. He shut thedoor--always a ceremony--behind him and tiptoed toward her. 

Marguerite Whitland took her mind from the letter she was writing, andgave her full attention to her employer. 

"May I sit down, dear young typewriter?" said Bones humbly. 

"Of course you can sit down, or stand up, or do anything you like inthe office. Really, " she said, with a laugh, "really, Mr. Tibbetts, Idon't know whether you're serious sometimes. "

"I'm serious all the time, dear old flicker of keyboards, " said Bones, seating himself deferentially, and at a respectful distance. 

She waited for him to begin, but he was strangely embarrassed even forhim. 

"Miss Marguerite, " he began at last a little huskily, "the jolly oldpoet is born and not----"

"Oh, have you brought them?" she asked eagerly, and held out her hand. "Do show me, please!"

Bones shook his head. 

"No, I have not brought them, " he said. "In fact, I can't bring themyet. "

She was disappointed, and showed it. 

"You've promised me for a week I should see them. "

"Awful stuff, awful stuff!" murmured Bones disparagingly. "Simplyterrible tripe!"

"Tripe?" she said, puzzled. 

"I mean naughty rubbish and all that sort of thing. "

"Oh, but I'm sure it's good, " she said. "You wouldn't talk about yourpoems if they weren't good. "

"Well, " admitted Bones, "I'm not so sure, dear old arbitratorelegantus, to use a Roman expression, I'm not so sure you're not right. One of these days those poems will be given to this wicked old world, and--then you'll see. "

"But what are they all about?" she asked for about the twentieth time. 

"What are they about?" said Bones slowly and thoughtfully. "They'reabout one thing and another, but mostly about my--er--friends. Ofcourse a jolly old poet like me, or like any other old fellow, likeShakespeare, if you like--to go from the sublime to the ridiculous--hasfits of poetising that mean absolutely nothing. It doesn't follow thatif a poet like Browning or me writes fearfully enthusiastically and allthat sort of thing about a person... No disrespect, you understand, dear old miss. "

"Quite, " she said, and wondered. 

"I take a subject for a verse, " said Bones airily, waving his handtoward Throgmorton Street. "A 'bus, a fuss, a tram, a lamb, a hat, acat, a sunset, a little flower growing on the river's brim, and allthat sort of thing--any old subject, dear old miss, that strikes me inthe eye--you understand?"

"Of course I understand, " she said readily. "A poet's field isuniversal, and I quite understand that if he writes nice things abouthis friends he doesn't mean it. "

"Oh, but doesn't he?" said Bones truculently. "Oh, doesn't he, indeed?That just shows what a fat lot you know about it, jolly old MissMarguerite. When I write a poem about a girl----"

"Oh, I see, they're about girls, " said she a little coldly. 

"About _a_ girl, " said Bones, this time so pointedly that his confusionwas transferred immediately to her. 

"Anyway, they don't mean anything, " she said bravely. 

"My dear young miss"--Bones rose, and his voice trembled as he laid hishand on the typewriter where hers had been a second before--"my dearold miss, " he said, jingling with the letters "a" and "e" as though hehad originally put out his hand to touch the keyboard, and was in noway surprised and distressed that the little hand which had coveredthem had been so hastily withdrawn, "I can only tell you----"

"There is your telephone bell, " she said hurriedly. "Shall I answerit?" And before Bones could reply she had disappeared. 

He went back to his flat that night with his mind made up. He wouldshow her those beautiful verses. He had come to this conclusion manytimes before, but his heart had failed him. But he was growingreckless now. She should see them--priceless verses, written in a mostexpensive book, with the monogram "W. M. " stamped in gold upon thecover. And as he footed it briskly up Devonshire Street, he recited:

 "O Marguerite, thou lovely flower, I think of thee most every hour, With eyes of grey and eyes of blue, That change with every passing hue, Thy lovely fingers beautifully typing, How sweet and fragrant is thy writing!

He thought he was reciting to himself, but that was not the case. People turned and watched him, and when he passed the green doorway ofDr. Harkley Bawkley, the eminent brain specialist, they were visiblydisappointed. 

He did not unlock the rosewood door of his flat, but rang the silverbell. 

He preferred this course. Ali, his Coast servant, in his new livery ofblue and silver, made the opening of the door something only lesspicturesque than the opening of Parliament. This intention may nothave been unconnected with the fact that there were two or three youngladies, and very young at that, on the landing, waiting for the door ofthe opposite flat to open. 

Ali opened the door. The lower half of him was blue and silver, theupper half was Oxford shirt and braces, for he had been engaged incleaning the silver. 

"What the deuce do you mean by it?" demanded Bones wrathfully. "Haven't I given you a good uniform, you blithering jackass? What thedeuce do you mean by opening the door, in front of people, too, dressedlike a--a--dashed naughty boy?"

"Silverous forks require lubrication for evening repast, " said Alireproachfully. 

Bones stalked on to his study. 

It was a lovely study, with a carpet of beautiful blue. It was a studyof which a man might be proud. The hangings were of silk, and thesuite was also of silk, and also of blue silk. He sat down at hisLouis XVI. Table, took a virgin pad, and began to write. Theinspiration was upon him, and he worked at top speed. 

"I saw a litle bird--a litle bird--a litle bird, floating in the sky, "he wrote. "Ever so high! Its pretty song came down, down to me, andit sounded like your voice the other afternoon at tea, at tea. And inits flite I remembered the night when you came home to me. "

He paused at the last, because Marguerite Whitland had never come hometo him, certainly not at night. The proprieties had to be observed, and he changed the last few lines to: "I remember the day when you cameaway to Margate on the sea, on the sea. "

He had not seen his book of poems for a week, but there was a blankpage at the end into which the last, and possibly the greatest, mightgo. He pulled the drawer open. It was empty. There was no mistakingthe fact that that had been the drawer in which the poems had reposed, because Bones had a very excellent memory. 

He rang the bell and Ali came, his Oxford shirt and braces imperfectlyhidden under a jersey which had seen better days. 

"Ali"--and this time Bones spoke rapidly and in Coast Arabic--"in thisdrawer was a beautiful book in which I had written many things. "

Ali nodded. 

"Master, that I know, for you are a great poet, and I speak yourpraises whenever I go into the _café_, for Hafiz did not write morebeautifully than you. "

"What the dooce, " spluttered Bones in English, "do you mean by tellingpeople about me--eh, you scoundrel? What the dooce do you mean by it, you naughty old ebony?"

"Master, " said All "eulogistic speechification creates admiration incommon minds. "

He was so unruffled, so complacent, that Bones, could only look at himin wonder. There was, too, about Ali Mahomet a queer look of guiltysatisfaction, as of one who had been surprised in a good act. 

"Master, " he said, "it is true that, contrary to modest desires ofhumble poets, I have offered praises of your literature to unauthorisedpersons, sojourning in high-class _café_ 'King's Arms, ' for my eveningrefreshment. Also desiring to create pleasant pleasure and surprise, your servant from his own emoluments authorised preparation of saidpoems in real print work. "

Bones gasped. 

"You were going to get my things printed? Oh, you ... Oh, you.... "

Ali was by no means distressed. 

"To-morrow there shall come to you a beautiful book for the master'ssurprise and joyousness. I myself will settle account satisfactorilyfrom emoluments accrued. "

Bones could only sit down and helplessly wag his head. Presently hegrew calmer. It was a kindly thought, after all. Sooner or laterthose poems of his must be offered to the appreciation of a largeraudience. He saw blind Fate working through his servitor's act. Thematter had been taken out of his hands now. 

"What made you do it, you silly old josser?" he asked. 

"Master, one gentleman friend suggested or proffered advice, himselfbeing engaged in printery, possessing machines----"

A horrible thought came into Bones's head. 

"What was his name?" he asked. 

Ali fumbled in the capacious depths of his trousers pocket and produceda soiled card, which he handed to Bones. Bones read with a groan:

 MESSRS. SEEPIDGE & SOOMES, Printers to the Trade. 

Bones fell back in the padded depths of his writing chair. 

"Now, you've done it, " he said hollowly, and threw the card back again. 

It fell behind Ali, and he turned his back on Bones and stooped to pickup the card. It was a target which, in Bones's then agitatedcondition, he could scarcely be expected to resist. 

 * * * * *

Bones spent a sleepless night, and was at the office early. By thefirst post came the blow he had expected--a bulky envelope bearing onthe flap the sign-manual of Messrs. Seepidge & Soomes. The letterwhich accompanied the proof enclosed merely repeated the offer to sellthe business for fifteen thousand pounds. 

"This will include, " the letter went on, "a great number of uncompletedorders, one of which is for a very charming series of poems which arenow in our possession, and a proof-sheet of which we beg to enclose. "

Bones read the poems and they somehow didn't look as well in print asthey had in manuscript. And, horror of horrors--he went white at thethought--they were unmistakably disrespectful to Miss MargueriteWhitland! They were love poems. They declared Bones's passion inlanguage which was unmistakable. They told of her hair which wasbeyond compare, of her eyes which rivalled the skies, and of her lipslike scarlet strips. Bones bowed his head in his hands, and was inthis attitude when the door opened, and Miss Whitland, who had had aperfect night and looked so lovely that her poems became pallid andnauseating caricatures, stepped quietly into the room. 

"Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she said. 

"Oh, quite well, " said Bones valiantly. "Very tra-la-la, dear oldthing, dear old typewriter, I mean. "

"Is that correspondence for me?"

She held out her hand, and Bones hastily thrust Messrs. Seepidge &Soomes's letter, with its enclosure, into his pocket. 

"No, no, yes, yes, " he said incoherently. "Certainly why not this is aletter dear old thing about a patent medicine I have just taken I amnot all I was a few years ago old age is creeping on me and all thatsort of stuff shut the door as you go in. "

He said this without a comma or a full-stop. He said it so wildly thatshe was really alarmed. 

Hamilton arrived a little later, and to him Bones made full confession. 

"Let's see the poems, " said Hamilton seriously. 

"You won't laugh?" said Bones. 

"Don't be an ass. Of course I won't laugh, unless they're supposed tobe comic, " said Hamilton. And, to do him justice, he did not so muchas twitch a lip, though Bones watched his face jealously. 

So imperturbable was Hamilton's expression that Bones had courage todemand with a certain smugness:

"Well, old man, not so bad? Of course, they don't come up to Kipling, but I can't say that I'm fearfully keen on Kipling, old thing. Thatlittle one about the sunset, I think, is rather a gem. "

"I think you're rather a gem, " said Hamilton, handing back the proofs. "Bones, you've behaved abominably, writing poetry of that kind andleaving it about. You're going to make this girl the laughing-stock ofLondon. "

"Laughing-stock?" snorted the annoyed Bones. "What the dickens do youmean, old thing? I told you there are no comic poems. They're alllike that. "

"I was afraid they were, " said Hamilton. "But poems needn't be comic, "he added a little more tactfully, as he saw Bones's colour rising, "they needn't be comic to excite people's amusement. The most solemnand sacred things, the most beautiful thoughts, the most wonderfulsentiments, rouse the laughter of the ignorant. "

"True, true, " agreed Bones graciously. "And I rather fancy that theyare a little bit on the most beautiful side, my jolly old graven image. All heart outpourings you understand--but no, you wouldn't understand, my old crochety one. One of these days, as I've remarked before, theywill be read by competent judges ... Midnight oil, dear old thing--atleast, I have electric light in my flat. They're generally done afterdinner. "

"After a heavy dinner, I should imagine, " said Hamilton with asperity. "What are you going to do about it, Bones?"

Bones scratched his nose. 

"I'm blessed if I know, " he said. 

"Shall I tell you what you must do?" asked Hamilton quietly. 

"Certainly, Ham, my wise old counsellor, " said the cheerful Bones. "Certainly, by all means, Why not?"

"You must go to Miss Whitland and tell her all about it. "

Bones's face fell. 

"Good Heavens, no!" he gasped. "Don't be indelicate, Ham! Why, shemight never forgive me, dear old thing! Suppose she walked out of theoffice in a huff? Great Scotland! Great Jehoshaphat! It's tooterrible to contemplate!"

"You must tell her, " said Hamilton firmly. "It's only fair to the girlto know exactly what is hanging over her. "

Bones pleaded, and offered a hundred rapid solutions, none of whichwere acceptable to the relentless Hamilton. 

"I'll tell her myself, if you like, " he said. "I could explain thatthey're just the sort of things that a silly ass of a man does, andthat they were not intended to be offensive--even that one about herlips being like two red strips. Strips of what--carpet?"

"Don't analyse it, Ham, lad, don't analyse it!" begged Bones. "Poemsare like pictures, old friend. You want to stand at a distance to seethem. "

"Personally I suffer from astigmatism, " said Hamilton, and read thepoems again. He stopped once or twice to ask such pointed questions ashow many "y's" were in "skies, " and Bones stood on alternate feet, protesting incoherently. 

"They're not bad, old boy?" he asked anxiously at last. "You wouldn'tsay they were bad?"

"Bad, " said Hamilton in truth, "is not the word I should apply. "

Bones cheered up. 

"That's what I think, dear ex-officer, " he smirked. "Of course, afellow is naturally shy about maiden efforts, and all that sort ofthing, but, hang it all, I've seen worse than that last poem, oldthing. "

"So have I, " admitted Hamilton, mechanically turning back to the firstpoem. 

"After all"--Bones was rapidly becoming philosophical--"I'm not so surethat it isn't the best thing that could happen. Let 'em print 'em!Hey? What do you say? Put that one about young Miss Marguerite beinglike a pearl discovered in a dustbin, dear Ham, put it before acompetent judge, and what would he say?"

"Ten years, " snarled Hamilton, "and you'd get off lightly!"

Bones smiled with admirable toleration, and there the matter ended forthe moment. 

It was a case of blackmail, as Hamilton had pointed out, but, as theday proceeded, Bones took a more and more lenient view of his enemy'sfault. By the afternoon he was cheerful, even jocose, and, even insuch moments as he found himself alone with the girl, brought theconversation round to the subject of poetry as one of the fine arts, and cunningly excited her curiosity. 

"There is so much bad poetry in the world, " said the girl on one suchoccasion, "that I think there should be a lethal chamber for people whowrite it. "

"Agreed, dear old tick-tack, " assented Bones, with an amused smile. "What is wanted is--well, I know, dear old miss. It may surprise youto learn that I once took a correspondence course in poetry writing. "

"Nothing surprises me about you, Mr. Tibbetts, " she laughed. 

He went into her office before leaving that night. Hamilton, with agloomy shake of his head by way of farewell, had already departed, andBones, who had given the matter very considerable thought, decided thatthis was a favourable occasion to inform her of the amusing efforts ofhis printer correspondent to extract money. 

The girl had finished her work, her typewriter was covered, and she waswearing her hat and coat. But she sat before her desk, a frown on herpretty face and an evening newspaper in her hand, and Bones's heartmomentarily sank. Suppose the poems had been given to the world?

"All the winners, dear old miss?" he asked, with spurious gaiety. 

She looked up with a start. 

"No, " she said. "I'm rather worried, Mr. Tibbetts. A friend of mystep-father's has got into trouble again, and I'm anxious lest mymother should have any trouble. "

"Dear, dear!" said the sympathetic Bones. "How disgustingly annoying!Who's the dear old friend?"

"A man named Seepidge, " said the girl, and Bones gripped a chair forsupport. "The police have found that he is printing something illegal. I don't quite understand it all, but the things they were printing wereinvitations to a German lottery. "

"Very naughty, very unpatriotic, " murmured the palpitating Bones, andthen the girl laughed. 

"It has its funny side, " she said. "Mr. Seepidge pretended that he wascarrying out a legitimate order--a book of poems. Isn't that absurd?"

"Ha, ha!" said Bones hollowly. 

"Listen, " said the girl, and read:

"The magistrate, in sentencing Seepidge to six months' hard labour, said that there was no doubt that the man had been carrying on anillegal business. He had had the effrontery to pretend that he wasprinting a volume of verse. The court had heard extracts from thatprecious volume, which had evidently been written by Mr. Seepidge'soffice-boy. He had never read such appalling drivel in his life. Heordered the confiscated lottery prospectuses to be destroyed, and hethought he would be rendering a service to humanity if he added anorder for the destruction of this collection of doggerel. "

The girl looked up at Bones. 

"It is curious that we should have been talking about poetry to-day, isn't it?" she asked. "Now, Mr. Tibbetts, I'm going to insist uponyour bringing that book of yours to-morrow. "

Bones, very flushed of face, shook his head. 

"Dear old disciple, " he said huskily, "another time ... Another time... Poetry should be kept for years ... Like old wine... "

"Who said that?" she asked, folding her paper and rising. 

"Competent judges, " said Bones, with a gulp. 

CHAPTER IX

THE LAMP THAT NEVER WENT OUT

"Have you seen her?" asked Bones. 

He put this question with such laboured unconcern that Hamilton putdown his pen and glared suspiciously at his partner. 

"She's rather a beauty, " Bones went on, toying with his ivorypaper-knife. "She has one of those dinky bonnets, dear old thing, thatmakes you feel awfully braced with life. "

Hamilton gasped. He had seen the beautiful Miss Whitland enter theoffice half an hour before, but he had not noticed her head-dress. 

"Her body's dark blue, with teeny red stripes, " said Bones dreamily, "and all her fittings are nickel-plated----"

"Stop!" commanded Hamilton hollowly. "To what unhappy woman are youreferring in this ribald fashion?"

"Woman!" spluttered the indignant Bones. "I'm talking about my car. "

"Your car?"

"My car, " said Bones, in the off-handed way that a sudden millionairemight refer to "my earth. "

"You've bought a car?"

Bones nodded. 

"It's a jolly good 'bus, " he said. "I thought of running down toBrighton on Sunday. "

Hamilton got up and walked slowly across the room with his hands in hispockets. 

"You're thinking of running down to Brighton, are you?" he said. "Isit one of those kind of cars where you have to do your own running?"

Bones, with a good-natured smile, also rose from his desk and walked tothe window. 

"My car, " he said, and waved his hand to the street. 

By craning his neck, Hamilton was able to get a view of the patch ofroadway immediately in front of the main entrance to the building. Andundoubtedly there was a car in waiting--a long, resplendent machinethat glittered in the morning sunlight. 

"What's the pink cushion on the seat?" asked Hamilton. 

"That's not a pink cushion, dear old myoptic, " said Bones calmly;"that's my chauffeur--Ali ben Ahmed. "

"Good lor!" said the impressed Hamilton. "You've a nerve to drive intothe City with a sky-blue Kroo boy. "

Bones shrugged his shoulders. 

"We attracted a certain amount of attention, " he admitted, not withoutsatisfaction. 

"Naturally, " said Hamilton, going back to his desk. "People thoughtyou were advertising Pill Pellets for Pale Poultry. When did you buythis infernal machine?"

Bones, at his desk, crossed his legs and put his fingers together. 

"Negotiations, dear old Ham, have been in progress for a month, " herecited. "I have been taking lessons on the quiet, and to-day--proof!"He took out his pocket-book and threw a paper with a lordly air towardshis partner. It fell half-way on the floor. 

"Don't trouble to get up, " said Hamilton. "It's your motor licence. You needn't be able to drive a car to get that. "

And then Bones dropped his attitude of insouciance and became avociferous advertisement for the six-cylinder Carter-Crispley ("the bigcar that's made like a clock"). He became double pages withillustrations and handbooks and electric signs. He spoke of Carter andof Crispley individually and collectively with enthusiasm, affection, and reverence. 

"Oh!" said Hamilton, when he had finished. "It sounds good. "

"Sounds good!" scoffed Bones. "Dear old sceptical one, that car... "

And so forth. 

All excesses being their own punishment, two days later Bones renewedan undesirable acquaintance. In the early days of Schemes, Ltd. , Mr. Augustus Tibbetts had purchased a small weekly newspaper called the_Flame_. Apart from the losses he incurred during its short career, the experience was made remarkable by the fact that he becameacquainted with Mr. Jelf, a young and immensely self-satisfied man inpince-nez, who habitually spoke uncharitably of bishops, and neverreferred to members of the Government without causing sensitive peopleto shudder. 

The members of the Government retaliated by never speaking of Jelf atall, so there was probably some purely private feud between them. 

Jelf disapproved of everything. He was twenty-four years of age, andhe, too, had made the acquaintance of the Hindenburg Line. NaturallyBones thought of Jelf when he purchased the _Flame_. 

From the first Bones had run the _Flame_ with the object of exposingthings. He exposed Germans, Swedes, and Turks--which was safe. Heexposed a furniture dealer who had made him pay twice for an articlebecause a receipt was lost, and that cost money. He exposed a man whohad been very rude to him in the City. He would have exposed JamesJacobus Jelf, only that individual showed such eagerness to expose hisown shortcomings, at a guinea a column, that Bones had lost interest. 

His stock of personal grievances being exhausted, he had gone in for ageneral line of exposure which embraced members of the aristocracy andthe Stock Exchange. 

If Bones did not like a man's face, he exposed him. He had a columnheaded "What I Want to Know, " and signed "Senob. " in which suchpertinent queries appeared as:

"When will the naughty old lord who owns a sky-blue motor-car, andwears pink spats, realise that his treatment of his tenants is adisgrace to his ancient lineage?"

This was one of James Jacobus Jelf's contributed efforts. It happenedon this particular occasion that there was only one lord in England whoowned a sky-blue car and blush-rose spats, and it cost Bones twohundred pounds to settle his lordship. 

Soon after this, Bones disposed of the paper, and instructed Mr. Jelfnot to call again unless he called in an ambulance--an instructionwhich afterwards filled him with apprehension, since he knew that J. J. J. Would charge up the ambulance to the office. 

Thus matters stood two days after his car had made its publicappearance, and Bones sat confronting the busy pages of his garage bill. 

On this day he had had his lunch brought into the office, and he was ina maze of calculation, when there came a knock at the door. 

"Come in!" he yelled, and, as there was no answer, walked to the doorand opened it. 

A young man stood in the doorway--a young man very earnest and verymysterious--none other than James Jacobus Jelf. 

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Bones unfavourably "I thought it wassomebody important. "

Jelf tiptoed into the room and closed the door securely behind him. 

"Old man, " he said, in tones little above a whisper, "I've got afortune for you. "

"Dear old libeller, leave it with the lift-man, " said Bones. "He has awife and three children. "

Mr. Jelf examined his watch. 

"I've got to get away at three o'clock, old man, " he said. 

"Don't let me keep you, old writer, " said Bones with insolentindifference. 

Jelf smiled. 

"I'd rather not say where I'm going, " he volunteered. "It's a scoop, and if it leaked out, there would be the devil to pay. "

"Oh!" said Bones, who knew Mr. Jelf well. "I thought it was somethinglike that. "

"I'd like to tell you, Tibbetts, " said Jelf regretfully, "but you knowhow particular one has to be when one is dealing with matters affectingthe integrity of ministers. "

"I know, I know, " responded Bones, wilfully dense, "especially huffyold vicars, dear old thing. "

"Oh, them!" said Jelf, extending his contempt to the rules which governthe employment of the English language. "I don't worry about thosepoor funny things. No, I am speaking of a matter--you have heard aboutG. ?" he asked suddenly. 

"No, " said Bones with truth. 

Jelf looked astonished. 

"What!" he said incredulously. "You in the heart of things, and don'tknow about old G. ?"

"No, little Mercury, and I don't want to know, " said Bones, busyinghimself with his papers. 

"You'll tell me you don't know about L. Next, " he said, bewildered. 

"Language!" protested Bones. "You really mustn't use Sunday words, really you mustn't. "

Then Jelf unburdened himself. It appeared that G. Had been engaged toL. 's daughter, and the engagement had been broken off.... 

Bones stirred uneasily and looked at his watch. 

"Dispense with the jolly old alphabet, " he said wearily, "and let usget down to the beastly personalities. "

Thereafter Jelf's conversation condensed itself to the limits of ahuman understanding. "G" stood for Gregory--Felix Gregory; "L" forLansing, who apparently had no Christian name, nor found such appendagenecessary, since he was dead. He had invented a lamp, and that lamphad in some way come into Jelf's possession. He was exploiting theinvention on behalf of the inventor's daughter, and had named it--hesaid this with great deliberation and emphasis--"The Tibbetts-JelfMotor Lamp. "

Bones made a disparaging noise, but was interested. 

The Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp was something new in motor lamps. It was a lampwhich had all the advantages of the old lamp, plus properties which nolamp had ever had before, and it had none of the disadvantages of anylamp previously introduced, and, in fact, had no disadvantageswhatsoever. So Jelf told Bones with great earnestness. 

"You know me, Tibbetts, " he said. "I never speak about myself, and I'mrather inclined to disparage my own point of view than otherwise. "

"I've never noticed that, " said Bones. 

"You know, anyway, " urged Jelf, "that I want to see the bad side ofanything I take up. "

He explained how he had sat up night after night, endeavouring todiscover some drawback to the Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp, and how he had rolledinto bed at five in the morning, exhausted by the effort. 

"If I could only find one flaw!" he said. "But the ingenious beggarwho invented it has not left a single bad point. "

He went on to describe the lamp. With the aid of a lead pencil and apiece of Bones's priceless notepaper he sketched the front elevationand discoursed upon rays, especially upon ultra-violet rays. 

Apparently this is a disreputable branch of the Ray family. If youcould only get an ultra-violet ray as he was sneaking out of the lamp, and hit him violently on the back of the head, you were rendering aservice to science and humanity. 

This lamp was so fixed that the moment Mr. Ultra V. Ray reached thethreshold of freedom he was tripped up, pounced upon, and beaten untilhe (naturally enough) changed colour!

It was all done by the lens. 

Jelf drew a Dutch cheese on the table-cloth to Illustrate the point. 

"This light never goes out, " said Jelf passionately. "If you lit itto-day, it would be alight to-morrow, and the next day, and so on. Allthe light-buoys and lighthouses around England will be fitted with thislamp; it will revolutionise navigation. "

According to the exploiter, homeward bound mariners would gathertogether on the poop, or the hoop, or wherever homeward bound mannersgathered, and would chant a psalm of praise, in which the line "Heavenbless the Tibbetts-Jelf Lamp" would occur at regular intervals. 

And when he had finished his eulogy, and lay back exhausted by his owneloquence, and Bones asked, "But what does it _do_?" Jelf could havekilled him. 

Under any other circumstances Bones might have dismissed his visitorwith a lecture on the futility of attempting to procure money underfalse pretences. But remember that Bones was the proprietor of a newmotor-car, and thought motor-car and dreamed motor-car by day and bynight. Even as it was, he was framing a conventional expression ofregret that he could not interest himself in outside property, whenthere dawned upon his mind the splendid possibilities of possessingthis accessory, and he wavered. 

"Anyway, " he said, "it will take a year to make. "

Mr. Jelf beamed. 

"Wrong!" he cried triumphantly. "Two of the lamps are just finished, and will be ready to-morrow. "

Bones hesitated. 

"Of course, dear old Jelf, " he said, "I should like, as an experiment, to try them on my car. "

"On your car?" Jelf stepped back a pace and looked at the other withvery flattering interest and admiration. "Not your car! _Have_ you acar?"

Bones said he had a car, and explained it at length. He even waxed asenthusiastic about his machine as had Mr. Jelf on the subject of thelamp that never went out. And Jelf agreed with everything that Bonessaid. Apparently he was personally acquainted with the Carter-Crispleycar. He had, so to speak, grown up with it. He knew its good pointsand none of its bad points. He thought the man who chose a car likethat must have genius beyond the ordinary. Bones agreed. Bones hadreached the conclusion that he had been mistaken about Jelf, and thatpossibly age had sobered him (it was nearly six months since he hadperpetrated his last libel). They parted the best of friends. He hadagreed to attend a demonstration at the workshop early the followingmorning, and Jelf, who was working on a ten per cent. Commission basis, and had already drawn a hundred on account from the vendors, was thereto meet him. 

In truth it was a noble lamp--very much like other motor lamps, exceptthat the bulb was, or apparently was, embedded in solid glass. Itsprincipal virtue lay in the fact that it carried its own accumulator, which had to be charged weekly, or the lamp forfeited its title. 

Mr. Jelf explained, with the adeptness of an expert, how the lamp wascontrolled from the dashboard, and how splendid it was to have a lightwhich was independent of the engine of the car or of faultyaccumulators, and Bones agreed to try the lamp for a week. He did morethan this: he half promised to float a company for its manufacture, andgave Mr. Jelf fifty pounds on account of possible royalties andcommission, whereupon Mr. Jelf faded from the picture, and from thatmoment ceased to take the slightest interest in a valuable articlewhich should have been more valuable by reason of the fact that it borehis name. 

Three days later Hamilton, walking to business, was overtaken by abeautiful blue Carter-Crispley, ornamented, it seemed from a distance, by two immense bosses of burnished silver. On closer examination theyproved to be nothing more remarkable than examples of the Tibbett-JelfLamp. 

"Yes, " said Bones airily, "that's the lamp, dear old thing. Inventedin leisure hours by self and Jelf. Step in, and I'll explain. "

"Where do I step in, " asked Hamilton, wilfully dense--"into the car orinto the lamp?"

Bones patiently smiled and waved him with a gesture to a seat by hisside. His explanation was disjointed and scarcely informative; forBones had yet to learn the finesse of driving, and he had a trick ofthinking aloud. 

"This lamp, old thing, " he said, "never goes out--you silly old josser, why did you step in front of me? Goodness gracious! I nearly cutshort your naughty old life"--(this to one unhappy pedestrian whomBones had unexpectedly met on the wrong side of the road)--"never goesout, dear old thing. It's out now, I admit, but it's not in workingorder--Gosh! That was a narrow escape! Nobody but a skilled driver, old Hamilton, could have missed that lamp-post. It is going to createa sensation; there's nothing like it on the market--whoop!"

He brought the car to a standstill with a jerk and within half an inchof a City policeman who was directing the traffic with his back turnedto Bones, blissfully unconscious of the doom which almost overcame him. 

"I like driving with you, Bones, " said Hamilton, when they reached theoffice, and he had recovered something of his self-possession. "Nextto stalking bushmen in the wild, wild woods, I know of nothing moresoothing to the nerves. "

"Thank you, " said Bones gratefully. "I'm not a bad driver, am I?"

"'Bad' is not the word I should use alone, " said Hamilton pointedly. 

In view of the comments which followed, he was surprised and pained toreceive on the following day an invitation, couched in such terms asleft him a little breathless, to spend the Sunday exploiting thebeauties of rural England. 

"Now, I won't take a 'No, '" said Bones, wagging his bony forefinger. "We'll start at eleven o'clock, dear old Ham, and we'll lunch atwhat-you-may-call-it, dash along the thingummy road, and heigho! forthe beautiful sea-breezes. "

"Thanks, " said Hamilton curtly. "You may dash anywhere you like, butI'm dashed if I dash with you. I have too high a regard for my life. "

"Naughty, naughty!" said Bones, "I've a good mind not to tell you whatI was going to say. Let me tell you the rest. Now, suppose, " he saidmysteriously, "that there's a certain lady--a jolly old girl namedVera--ha--ha!"

Hamilton went red. 

"Now, listen, Bones, " he said; "we'll not discuss any other person thanourselves. "

"What do you say to a day in the country? Suppose you asked MissVera----"

"Miss Vera Sackwell, " replied Hamilton a little haughtily, "if she isthe lady you mean, is certainly a friend of mine, but I have no controlover her movements. And let me tell you, Bones, that you annoy mewhen----"

"Hoity, toity!" said Bones. "Heaven bless my heart and soul! Can'tyou trust your old Bones? Why practise this deception, old thing? Isuppose, " he went on reflectively, ignoring the approaching apoplexy ofhis partner, "I suppose I'm one of the most confided-in persons inLondon. A gay old father confessor, Ham, lad. Everybody tells metheir troubles. Why, the lift-girl told me this morning that she'd hadmeasles twice! Now, out with it, Ham!"

If Hamilton had any tender feeling for Miss Vera Sackwell, he was notdisposed to unburden himself at that moment. In some mysteriousfashion Bones, for the first time in his life, had succeeded inreducing him to incoherence. 

"You're an ass, Bones!" he said angrily and hotly. "You're not only anass, but an indelicate ass! Just oblige me by shutting up. "

Bones closed his eyes, smiled, and put out his hand. 

"Whatever doubts I had, dear old Ham, " he murmured, "are dispelled. Congratulations!"

That night Hamilton dined with a fair lady. She was fair literally andfiguratively, and as he addressed her as Vera, it was probably hername. In the course of the dinner he mentioned Bones and hissuggestion. He did not tell all that Bones had said. 

The suggestion of a day's motoring was not received unfavourably. 

"But he can't drive, " wailed Hamilton. "He's only just learnt. "

"I want to meet Bones, " said the girl, "and I think it a most excellentopportunity. "

"But, my dear, suppose the beggar upsets us in a ditch? I really can'trisk your life. "

"Tell Bones that I accept, " she said decisively, and that ended thematter. 

The next morning Hamilton broke the news. 

"Miss Sackwell thanks you for your invitation, Bones. "

"And accepts, of course?" said Bones complacently. "Jolly old Vera. "

"And I say, old man, " said Hamilton severely, "will you be kind enoughto remember not to call this lady Vera until she asks you to?"

"Don't be peevish, old boy, don't be jealous, dear old thing. Brother-officer and all that. Believe me, you can trust your oldBones. "

"I'd rather trust the lady's good taste, " said Hamilton with someacerbity. "But won't it be a bit lonely for you, Bones?"

"But what do you mean, my Othello?"

"I mean three is a pretty rotten sort of party, " said Hamilton. "Couldn't you dig up somebody to go along and make the fourth?"

Bones coughed and was immensely embarrassed. 

"Well, dear old athlete, " he said unnecessarily loudly, "I was thinkingof asking my--er----"

"Your--er--what? I gather it's an er, " said Hamilton seriously, "butwhich er?"

"My old typewriter, frivolous one, " said Bones truculently. "Anyobjection?"

"Of course not, " said Hamilton calmly. "Miss Whitland is a mostcharming girl, and Vera will be delighted to meet her. "

Bones choked his gratitude and wrung the other's hand for fully twominutes. 

He spent the rest of the week in displaying to Hamilton the frankambitions of his mind toward Miss Marguerite Whitland. Whenever he hadnothing to do--which seemed most of the day--he strolled across toHamilton's desk and discoursed upon the proper respect which allright-thinking young officers have for old typewriters. By the end ofthe week Hamilton had the confused impression that the very pretty girlwho ministered to the literary needs of his partner, combined thequalities of a maiden aunt with the virtues of a grandmother, and thatBones experienced no other emotion than one of reverential wonder, tinctured with complete indifference. 

On the sixty-fourth lecture Hamilton struck. 

"Of course, dear old thing, " Bones was saying, "to a jolly old brigandlike you, who dashes madly down from his mountain lair and takes thefirst engaging young person who meets his eye----"

Hamilton protested vigorously, but Bones silenced him with a lordlygesture. 

"I say, to a jolly old rascal like you it may seem--what is the word?"

"'Inexplicable, ' I suppose, is the word you are after, " said Hamilton. 

"That's the fellow; you took it out of my mouth, " said Bones. "Itsounds inexplicable that I can be interested in a platonic, fatherlykind of way in the future of a lovely old typewriter. "

"It's not inexplicable at all, " said Hamilton bluntly. "You're in lovewith the girl. "

"Good gracious Heavens!" gasped Bones, horrified. "Ham, my dear oldboy. Dicky Orum, Dicky Orum, old thing!"

Sunday morning brought together four solemn people, two of whom weremen, who felt extremely awkward and showed it, and two of whom behavedas though they had known one another all their lives. 

Bones, who stood alternately on his various legs, was frankly astoundedthat the meeting had passed off without any sensational happening. Itwas an astonishment shared by thousands of men in similarcircumstances. A word of admiration for the car from Vera melted himto a condition of hysterical gratitude. 

"It's not a bad old 'bus, dear old--Miss Vera, " he said, and tut-tuttedaudibly under his breath at his error. "Not a bad old 'bus at all, dear old--young friend. Now I'll show you the gem of the collection. "

"They are big, aren't they?" said Vera, properly impressed by the lamps. 

"They never go out, " said Bones solemnly. "I assure you I'm lookingforward to the return journey with the greatest eagerness--I mean tosay, of course, that I'm looking forward to the other journey--I don'tmean to say I want the day to finish, and all that sort of rot. Infact, dear old Miss Vera, I think we'd better be starting. "

He cranked up and climbed into the driver's seat, and beckonedMarguerite to seat herself by his side. He might have done thiswithout explanation, but Bones never did things without explanation, and he turned back and glared at Hamilton. 

"You'd like to be alone, dear old thing, wouldn't you?" he saidgruffly. "Don't worry about me, dear old lad. A lot of people say youcan see things reflected in the glass screen, but I'm so absorbed in mydriving----"

"Get on with it!" snarled Hamilton. 

It was, nevertheless, a perfect day, and Bones, to everybody'ssurprise, his own included, drove perfectly. It had been his secretintention to drive to Brighton; but nobody suspected this plan, orcared very much what his intentions had been, and the car was runningsmoothly across Salisbury Plain. 

When they stopped for afternoon tea, Hamilton did remark that hethought Bones had said something about Brighton, but Bones just smiled. They left Andover that night in the dusk; but long before the light hadfaded, the light which was sponsored by Mr. Jelf blazed whitely in thelamp that never went out. And when the dark came Bones purred withjoy, for this light was a wonderful light. It flooded the road aheadwith golden radiance, and illuminated the countryside, so that distantobservers speculated upon its origin. 

"Well, old thing, " said Bones over his shoulder, "what do you think ofthe lamps?"

"Simply wonderful, Bones, " agreed Hamilton. "I've never seen anythingso miraculous. I can even see that you're driving with one hand. "

Bones brought the other hand up quickly to the wheel and coughed. Asfor Miss Marguerite Whitland, she laughed softly, but nobody heard her. 

They were rushing along a country road tree-shaded and high-hedged, andBones was singing a little song--when the light went out. 

It went out with such extraordinary unexpectedness, without so much asa warning flicker, that he was temporarily blinded, and brought the carto a standstill. 

"What's up, Bones?" asked Hamilton. 

"The light, dear old thing, " said Bones. "I think the jolly oldtypewriter must have touched the key with her knee. "

"Indeed?" said Hamilton politely; and Bones, remembering that the keywas well over on his side of the car, coughed, this time fiercely. 

He switched the key from left to right, but nothing happened. 

"Most extraordinary!" said Bones. 

"Most, " said Hamilton. 

There was a pause. 

"I think the road branches off a little way up I'll get down and seewhich is the right road to take, " said Bones with sudden cheerfulness. "I remember seeing the old signpost before the--er--lamp went out. Perhaps, Miss Marguerite, you'd like to go for a little walk. "

Miss Marguerite Whitland said she thought she would, and they went offtogether to investigate, leaving Hamilton to speculate upon thelikelihood of their getting home that night. 

Bones walked ahead with Marguerite, and instinctively their handssought and found one another. They discovered the cross-roads, butBones did not trouble to light his match. His heart was beating withextraordinary violence, his lips were dry, he found much difficulty inspeaking at all. 

"Miss Marguerite, " he said huskily, "don't think I'm an awful outsiderand a perfect rotter, dear old typewriter. "

"Of course I don't, " she said a little faintly for Bones's arm wasabout her. 

"Don't think, " said Bones, his voice trembling, "that I am a naughtyold philanderer; but somehow, dear old miss, being alone with you, andall that sort of stuff----"

And he bent and kissed her, and at that moment the light that neverwent out came on again with extraordinary fierceness, as though to makeup for its temporary absence without leave. 

And these two young people were focused as in a limelight, and were notonly visible from the car, but visible for miles around. 

"Dear me!" said Bones. 

The girl said nothing. She shaded her eyes from the light as shewalked back. As for Bones, he climbed into the driver's seat with thedeliberation of an old gentleman selecting a penny chair in the park, and said, without turning his head:

"It's the road to the left. "

"I'm glad, " said Hamilton, and made no comment even when Bones took theroad to the right. 

They had gone a quarter of a mile along this highway when the lamp wentout. It went out with as unexpected and startling suddenness asbefore. Bones jingled the key, then turned. 

"You wouldn't like to get out, dear old Ham, and have a look round, would you?"

"No, Bones, " said Hamilton drily. "We're quite comfortable. "

"You wouldn't like to get down, my jolly old typewriter?"

"No, thank you, " said Miss Marguerite Whitland with decision. 

"Oh!" said Bones. "Then, under the circumstances, dear old person, we'd all better sit here until----"

At that moment the light came on. It flooded the white road, and thewhite road was an excellent wind-screen against which the bending headof Bones was thrown into sharp relief. 

The car moved on. At regular intervals the light that never went outforsook its home-loving habits and took a constitutional. Theoccupants of the ear came to regard its eccentricities with philosophy, even though it began to rain, and there was no hood. 

On the outskirts of Guildford, Bones was pulled up by a policeman, whotook his name because the lights were too bright. On the other side ofGuildford he was pulled up by another policeman because he had no lightat all. Passing through Kingston, the lamp began to flicker, sendingforth brilliant dots and dashes, which continued until they were onPutney Common, where the lamp's message was answered from a camp of BoyScouts, one signalman of the troop being dragged from his bed for thepurpose, the innocent child standing in his shirt at the call of duty. 

"A delightful day, " said Hamilton at parting that night. (It wasnearly twelve o'clock. ) "I'm sorry you've had so much trouble withthat lamp, Bones. What did you call it?"

"I say, old fellow, " said Bones, ignoring the question, "I hope, whenyou saw me picking a spider off dear old Miss Marguerite's shoulder, you didn't--er--think anything?"

"The only thing I thought was, " said Hamilton, "that I didn't see thespider. "

"Don't stickle, dear old partner, " said Bones testily. "It may havebeen an earwig. Now, as a man of the world, dear old _blasé_ one, doyou think I'd compromise an innocent typewriter? Do you think I oughtto----" He paused, but his voice was eager. 

"That, " said Hamilton, "is purely a question for the lady. Now, whatare you going to do with this lamp. Are you going to float it?"

Bones scowled at the glaring headlight. 

"That depends whether the naughty old things float, Ham, " he saidvenomously. "If you think they will, my old eye-witness, how abouttyin' a couple of bricks round 'em before I chuck 'em in. What?"

CHAPTER X

THE BRANCH LINE

Not all the investments of Bones paid dividends. Some cost him money. Some cost him time. Some--and they were few--cost him both. 

Somewhere in a marine store in London lie the battered wrecks of whatwere once electro-plated motor-lamps of a peculiar and, to Bones, sinister design. They were all that was left of a great commercialscheme, based upon the flotation of a lamp that never went out. 

On a day of crisis in Bones's life they had gone out, which was bad. They had come on at an inconvenient moment, which was worse, since theyhad revealed him and his secretary in tender attitudes. And Bones hadgone gaily to right the wrong, and had been received with coldpoliteness by the lady concerned. 

There was a week of gloom, when Bones adopted towards his invaluableassistant the air and manner of one who was in the last stages of awasting disease. Miss Marguerite Whitland never came into Bones'soffice without finding him sitting at his desk with his head in hishands, except once, when she came in without knocking and Bones hadn'tthe time to strike that picturesque attitude. 

Indeed, throughout that week she never saw him but he was swaying, orstanding with his hand before his eyes, or clutching on to the edge ofa chair, or walking with feeble footsteps; and she never spoke to himbut he replied with a tired, wan smile, until she became seriouslyalarmed, thinking his brain was affected, and consulted CaptainHamilton, his partner. 

"Look here, Bones, you miserable devil, " said Hamilton, "you're scaringthat poor girl. What the dickens do you mean by it?"

"Scaring who?" said Bones, obviously pleased. "Am I really? Is shefearfully cut up, dear old thing?"

"She is, " said Hamilton truthfully. "She thinks you're going dotty. "

"Vulgarity, vulgarity, dear old officer, " said Bones, much annoyed. 

"I told her you were often like that, " Hamilton went on wilfully. "Isaid that you were a little worse, if anything, after your last loveaffair----"

"Heavens!" nearly screamed Bones. "You didn't tell her anything aboutyour lovely old sister Patricia?"

"I did not, " said Hamilton. "I merely pointed out to her the fact thatwhen you were in love you were not to be distinguished from one whom isthe grip of measles. "

"Then you're a naughty old fellow, " said Bones. "You're a wicked oldrascal. I'm surprised at you! Can't a fellow have a little hearttrouble----"

"Heart? Bah!" said Hamilton scornfully. 

"Heart trouble, " repeated Bones sternly. "I've always had a weakheart. "

"And a weak head, too, " said Hamilton. "Now, just behave yourself, Bones, and stop frightening the lady. I'm perfectly sure she's fond ofyou--in a motherly kind of way, " he added, as he saw Bones's face lightup. "And, really, she is such an excellent typist that it would be asin and a shame to frighten her from the office. "

This possibility had not occurred to Bones, and it is likely it hadmore effect than any other argument which Hamilton could use. That dayhe began to take an interest in life, stepped gaily into the office andas blithely into his secretary's room. He even made jokes, and daredinvite her to tea--an invitation which was declined so curtly thatBones decided that tea was an unnecessary meal, and cut it outforthwith. 

All this time the business of Schemes Limited was going forward, if notby leaps and bounds, yet by steady progression. Perhaps it was therestraining influence that Hamilton exercised which prevented the leapsbeing too pronounced and kept the bounds within bounds, so to speak. It was Schemes Limited which bought the theatrical property of the lateMr. Liggeinstein and re-sold those theatres in forty-eight hours at ahandsome profit. It was Bones who did the buying, and it was Hamiltonwho did the selling--in this case, to the intense annoyance of Bones, who had sat up the greater part of one night writing a four-act play inblank verse, and arriving at the office late, had discovered that hischance of acting as his own producer had passed for ever. 

"And I'd written a most wonderful part for you, dear old mademoiselle, "he said sadly to his secretary. "The part where you die in the thirdact--well, really, it brought tears to my jolly old eyes. "

"I think Captain Hamilton was very wise to accept the offer of theColydrome Syndicate, " said the girl coldly. 

In his leisure moments Bones had other relaxations than the writing ofpoetry--now never mentioned--or four-act tragedies. What Hamilton hadsaid of him was true. He had an extraordinary nose for a bargain, andfound his profits in unexpected places. 

People got to know him--quite important people, men who handledmillions carelessly, like Julius Bohea, and Important Persons whosefaces are familiar to the people of Britain, such as the Right Hon. George Parkinson Chenney. Bones met that most influential member ofthe Cabinet at a very superior dinner-party, where everybody ateplovers' eggs as though it were a usual everyday occurrence. 

And Mr. Parkinson Chenney talked on his favourite subject with greatease and charm, and his favourite subject was the question of theChinese Concession. Apparently everybody had got concessions in Chinaexcept the British, until one of our cleverest diplomatists stepped inand procured for us the most amazingly rich coalfield of Wei-hai-tai. The genius and foresight of this diplomatist--who had actually gone toChina in the Long Vacation, and of his own initiative and out of hisown head had evolved these concessions, which were soon to be ratifiedby a special commission which was coming from China--was a theme onwhich Mr. Parkinson Chenney spoke with the greatest eloquence. Andeverybody listened respectfully, because he was a great man. 

"It is not for me, " said Mr. Parkinson Chenney, toying with the stem ofhis champagne glass and closing his eyes modestly, "I say it is not forme--thank you, Perkins, I will have just as much as will come up to thebrim; thank you, that will do very nicely--to speak boastfully or toenlarge unduly upon what I regard as a patriotic effort, and one whichevery citizen of these islands would in the circumstances have made, but I certainly plume myself upon the acumen and knowledge of thesituation which I showed. "

"Hear, hear!" said Bones in the pause that followed, and Mr. ParkinsonChenney beamed. 

When the dinner was over, and the guests retired to the smoking-room, Bones buttonholed the minister. 

"Dear old right honourable, " said Bones, "may I just have a few wordsin _re_ Chinese coal?"

The right honourable gentleman listened, or appeared to listen. ThenMr. Parkinson Chenney smiled a recognition to another great man, andmoved off, leaving Bones talking. 

Bones that night was the guest of a Mr. Harold Pyeburt, a Cityacquaintance--almost, it seemed, a disinterested City acquaintance. When Bones joined his host, Mr. Pyeburt patted him on the back. 

"My dear Tibbetts, " he said in admiration, "you've made a hit withChenney. What the dickens did you talk about?"

"Oh, coal, " said Bones vaguely. 

He wasn't quite certain what he had talked about, only he knew that inhis mind at dinner there had dawned a great idea. Was Mr. Pyeburt athought-reader? Possibly he was. Or possibly some chance word of hishad planted the seed which was now germinating so favourably. 

"Chenney is a man to know, " he said. "He's one of the most powerfulfellows in the Cabinet. Get right with him, and you can have aknighthood for the asking. "

Bones blushed. 

"A knighthood, dear old broker's man?" he said, with an elaborateshrug. "No use to me, my rare old athlete. Lord Bones--Lord TibbettsI mean--may sound beastly good, but what good is it, eh? Answer methat. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Mr. Pyeburt. "It may be nothing to you, butyour wife----"

"Haven't a wife, haven't a wife, " said Bones rapidly, "haven't a wife!"

"Oh, well, then, " said Mr. Pyeburt, "it isn't an attractive propositionto you, and, after all, you needn't take a knighthood--which, by theway, doesn't carry the title of lordship--unless you want to. 

"I've often thought, " he said, screwing up his forehead, as though inthe process of profound cogitation, "that one of these days some luckyfellow will take the Lynhaven Railway off Chenney's hands and earn hiseverlasting gratitude. "

"Lynhaven? Where's that?" asked Bones. "Is there a railway?"

Mr. Pyeburt nodded. 

"Come out on to the balcony, and I'll tell you about it, " said Pyeburt;and Bones, who always wanted telling about things, and could no moreresist information than a dipsomaniac could refuse drink, followedobediently. 

It appeared that Mr. Parkinson Chenney's father was a rich buteccentric man, who had a grudge against a certain popular seasideresort for some obscure reason, and had initiated a movement to found arival town. So he had started Lynhaven, and had built houses andvillas and beautiful assembly rooms; and then, to complete theindependence of Lynhaven, he had connected that town with the maintraffic line by railway, which he built across eight miles ofmarshland. By all the rules of the game, no man can createsuccessfully in a spirit of vengeance, and Lynhaven should have been afailure. It was, indeed, a great success, and repaid Mr. Chenney, Senior, handsomely. 

But the railway, it seemed, was a failure, because the rival town hadcertain foreshore rights, and had employed those to lay a tramway fromtheir hustling centre; and as the rival town was on the main line, themajority of visitors preferred going by the foreshore route inpreference to the roundabout branch line route, which was somewhathandicapped by the fact that this, too, connected with the branch lineat Tolness, a little town which had done great work in the War, butwhich did not attract the tourist in days of peace. 

These were the facts about the Lynhaven line, not as they were setforth by Mr. Pyeburt--who took a much more optimistic view of thepossibilities of the railway than did its detractors--but as theyreally were. 

"It's a fine line, beautifully laid and ballasted, " said Mr. Pyeburt, shaking his head with melancholy admiration. "All that it wants behindit is a mind. At present it's neglected; the freights and passengerfares are too high, the rolling-stock wants replacing, but thelocomotive stock is in most excellent condition. "

"Does he want to sell it?" asked the interested Bones, and Mr. Pyeburtpursed his lips. 

"It is extremely doubtful, " he said carefully, "but I think he might beapproached. If he does want to sell it, and you can take it off hishands----"

He raised his own eyebrows with a significant gesture, which expressedin some subtle way that Bones's future was assured. 

Bones said he would think the matter over, and he did--aloud, in thepresence of Hamilton. 

"It's a queer proposition, " said Hamilton. "Of course, derelictrailways can be made to pay. "

"I should be general manager, " said Bones more thoughtfully still. "Myname would be printed on all the posters, of course. And isn't there afree pass over all the railways for railway managers?"

"I believe there is something of the sort, " said Hamilton, "but, on thewhole, I think it would be cheaper to pay your fare than to buy arailway to get that privilege. "

"There is one locomotive, " mused Bones. "It is called 'Mary Louisa. 'Pyeburt told me about it just as I was going away. Of course, onewould get a bit of a name and all that sort of thing. "

He scratched his chin and walked thoughtfully into the office of MissMarguerite Whitland. 

She swung round in her chair and reached for her notebook, but Boneswas not in a dictatorial mood. 

"Young miss, " he asked, "how do you like Sir Augustus?"

"Sir who?" she demanded, puzzled. 

"Sir Augustus, " repeated Bones. 

"I think it's very funny, " she said. 

It was not the answer he expected, and instinctively she knew she hadmade a mistake. 

"Oh, you're thinking about yourself, " she said quickly. "Are you goingto be a knight, Mr. Tibbetts? Oh, how splendid!"

"Yes, " admitted Bones, with fine indifference, "not bad, dear old miss. I'm pretty young, of course, but Napoleon was a general at twenty-two. "

"Are you going back into the Army?" she asked a little hazily, and hadvisions of Bones at the War Office. 

"I'm talking about railways, " said Bones firmly. "Sir AugustusTibbetts--there, now I've said it!"

"Wonderful!" said the girl enthusiastically, and her eyes shone withgenuine pleasure. "I didn't see it in the newspaper, or I would havecongratulated you before. "

Bones shifted uneasily. 

"As a matter of fact, dear old miss, " he said, "it has not beengazetted yet. I'm merely speaking of the future, dear old impetuoustypewriter and future secretary to the Lynhaven Railway Company, andpossibly dear old Lady----" He stopped short with one of his audible"tuts. "

Happily she could not see the capital "L" to the word "Lady, " andmissed the significance of Bones's interrupted speech. 

He saw Mr. Harold Pyeburt at his office, and Mr. Harold Pyeburt hadseen the Right Hon. Parkinson Chenney, and the right honourablegentleman had expressed his willingness to sell the railway, lock, stock, and barrel, for sixty thousand pounds. 

"And I advise you"--Mr. Pyeburt paused, as he thought of a better wordthan "disinterestedly"--"as a friend, to jump at it. Parkinson Chenneyspoke in the highest terms of you. You evidently made a deepimpression upon him. "

"Who is the jolly old Parkinson's agent?" asked Bones, and Mr. HaroldPyeburt admitted without embarrassment that, as a matter of fact, hewas acting as Parkinson's attorney in this matter, and that was why hehad been so diffident in recommending the property. The audacity ofthe latter statement passed unnoticed by Bones. 

In the end Bones agreed to pay ten per cent. Of the purchase price, theremainder to be paid after a month's working of the line, if the dealwas approved. 

"Clever idea of mine, dear old Ham, " said Bones. "The Honours Listwill be out in a month, and I can easily chuck it. "

"That's about the eighth fellow who's paid a ten per cent. Deposit, "said Mr. Chenney to his agent. "I'll be almost sorry if he takes it. "

Three weeks later there were two important happenings. The PrimeMinister of England, within an hour of leaving for the West of Englandto take a well-earned rest, summoned to him his right-hand man. 

"Chenney, " he said, "I really must go away for this rest, and I'mawfully sorry I cannot be on hand to meet the Chinese Commission. Now, whatever you do, you will not fail to meet them at Charing Cross ontheir arrival from the Continent. I believe they are leaving Paristo-morrow. "

"I shall be there, " said Parkinson Chenney, with a little smile. "Irather fancy I have managed their coal concession well, Prime Minister. "

"Yes, yes, " said the Prime Minister, who was not in the mood forhanding out bouquets. "And would you run down to Tolness and settle upthat infernal commission of inquiry? They've been asking questions inthe House, and I can give no very definite reply. Solebury threatenedto force a division when the vote came up. Undoubtedly there's been agreat deal of extravagance, but you may be able to wangle a reasonableexplanation. "

"Trust me, Prime Minister, " said Mr. Parkinson Chenney, and left thatafternoon by special train for Tolness. 

On that very morning Bones, in a pair of overalls and with a raptexpression, stood with his hand on the starting lever of "Mary Louisa, "and explained to the secretary of the company--she also wore whiteoveralls and sat in the cab of the engine--just how simple a matter itwas to drive a locomotive. 

For two glorious days Bones had driven the regular service betweenLynhaven and Bayham Junction, where the lines met. He had come to knowevery twist and turn of the road, every feature of the somewhatfeatureless landscape, and the four passengers who travelled regularlyevery day except Sundays--there was no Sunday service--were now sofamiliar to him that he did not trouble to take their tickets. 

The Lynhaven Railway system was not as elaborate as he had thought. Hehad been impressed by the number of railway trucks which stood in thesiding at the terminus, but was to discover that they did not belong tothe railway, the rolling stock of which consisted of "Mary Louisa, " anasthmatic but once famous locomotive, and four weather-beaten coaches. The remainder of the property consisted of a half right in a bayplatform at Bayham Junction and the dilapidated station building atLynhaven, which was thoughtfully situated about two miles from the town. 

Nobody used the railway; that was the stark truth borne in uponMarguerite Whitland. She recognised, with a sense of dismay, theextraordinary badness of the bargain which Bones had made. Bones, witha real locomotive to play with--he had given the aged engine-driver aweek's holiday--saw nothing but the wonderful possibilities of pullinglevers and making a mass of rusting machinery jerk asthmaticallyforward at the touch of his hand. 

"There are a lot of people, " said Bones, affectionately patting a steampipe, "a lot of people, " he said, after sucking his fingers, for thesteam was extraordinarily hot, "who think poor old 'Mary Louisa' isdone for. Believe me, dear old miss, this locomotive wants a jolly lotof beating, she does really. I haven't tried her full out--have I, jolly old stoker?"

The jolly old stoker, aged seventeen, shook a grimy face. 

"And don't you try, neither, " he said ominously. "Old George, he nevertakes her more than quarter speed, he don't. "

"Do you hear, dear old miss?" said Bones triumphantly. "Not more thanquarter speed. I tell you I could make enough money out of this enginealone to pay the whole cost of the railway. 

"What about giving engine-driving lessons? That's an idea! And whatabout doing wonderful cinema pictures? That's another idea! Thrillingrescues from the train; jolly old hero struggling like mad on the roofof the carriage; railway collisions, and so forth, and so on. "

"You can't have a collision unless you've two engines, " said the girl. 

"Oh, well, " said the optimistic Bones, "we could perhaps borrow anengine from the Great Northern. "

He looked down at the girl, then looked at his watch. 

"Time to be up and doing, dear old thing, " he said, and looked backalong the little train. The aged guard was sitting on a barrow, hisnodding head testifying to the sleep-giving qualities of Lynhaven air. Bones jerked the whistle, there was an unearthly shriek, and the guardwoke up. He looked at his watch, yawned, searched the train forpassengers, waved his flag, and climbed into his little compartment. 

The engine shrieked again. Bones pulled over the lever gently, andthere was a gratifying chuck-chuck-chuck. Bones smiled down at thegirl. 

"Easy as shelling peas, dear old thing, " he said, "and this time I'mgoing to show you just how she can go. "

"Old Joe don't let her go more than quarter speed, " said the diminutivestoker warningly. 

"Blow old Joe!" said Bones severely. "He's a jolly unenterprising oldengine-driver. That's why the naughty old line doesn't pay. The ideaof running 'Mary Louisa' at quarter speed!"

He turned to the girl for approval, but she felt that, in thecircumstances and with only the haziest knowledge of engineering, itwould be wiser to offer no opinion. 

Bones pushed the lever a little farther over, and the "Mary Louisa"reeled under the shock. 

"In _re_ knighthood, dear old miss, " said Bones confidentially. Hiswords came jerkily, because the footplate of an outraged locomotivepounding forward at an unaccustomed speed was not a good foundation forcontinued eloquence. "Rendering the jolly old country aservice--helping the Cabinet--dear old Chenney awfully fond of me----"

"Aren't we going rather fast?" said the girl, gripping the side of thecab for support. 

"Not at all, " jerked Bones, "not at all. I am going to show 'em justhow this----"

He felt a touch on his arm, and looked down at the diminutive stoker. 

"There's a lot of sand round here, " said the melancholy child; "itwon't hurt you to jump I'm going to. "

"Jump!" gasped Bones. "What do you mean? Hey! Don't do that, yousilly young----"

But his black-visaged assistant was already poised on the step of theengine, and Bones, looking back, saw him performing somersaults down asandy slope. Bones looked at the girl in amazement. 

"Suicide, dear old miss!" he said in an awed voice. "Terrible!"

"Isn't that a station?" said the girl, more interested for the momentin her own future. 

Bones peered through the windows ahead. 

"That's the junction, dear old thing, " he said. "This is where we stopher. "

He tugged at the lever, but the lever was not to be moved. He tuggeddesperately, but it seemed the steel bar was riveted in position. The"Mary Louisa" was leaping along at an incredible speed, and less thanfive hundred yards away was the dead-end of the Bayham platform, intowhich the Lynhaven train was due to run. 

Bones went white and looked at the girl with fearful eyes. He took aswift scrutiny to the left and right, but they had passed out of thesandy country, and any attempt to leave the train now would meancertain destruction. 

 * * * * *

The Right Honourable Mr. Parkinson Chenney had concluded a verysatisfactory morning's work of inspection at Tolness, and had securedall the information he needed to answer any question which might be putto him in Parliament by the best-informed of questioners. 

He was lunching with the officers of the small garrison, when atelephone message was brought to him. He read it and smiled. 

"Good!" he said. "Gentlemen, I am afraid I have to leave you a littleearlier than I expected. Colonel Wraggle, will you see that my specialtrain is ready! I must leave in ten minutes. The Chinese Commissionhas arrived, " he said impressively, "or, rather, it arrives in Londonthis afternoon, and I am deputed by the Prime Minister----"

He explained to his respectful audience just what part he had played insecuring Chinese Coal Concessions. He made a little speech on theimmense value to the Empire in particular and the world in general ofthese new coalfields which had been secured to the country through theacumen, genius, forethought, and patriotic disinterestedness of theCabinet. 

He would not claim to set any particular merit on his own action, andwent on to claim it. By which time his train was ready. It was indeedvital that he should be in London to meet a commission which had shownsuch reluctance to trade with foreign devils, and had been, moreover, so punctilious in its demand for ceremonious receptions, but he had notthe slightest doubt about his ability to reach London before the boattrain arrived. He had two and a half hours, and two and a half hoursgave him an ample margin of time. 

Just before his special rounded the bend which brought it within sightof Bayham Junction the Lynhaven express had reached within a fewhundred yards of annihilation. The signalman at Bayham Junction hadwatched the oncoming rush of Bones's train, and, having a fairlyextensive knowledge of the "Mary Louisa" and her eccentricities, herealised just what had happened. 

There was only one thing to be done. He could see the smoke from theCabinet Minister's special rising above the cutting two miles away, andhe threw over two levers simultaneously. The first set the pointswhich brought the Lynhaven express on to the main line, switching itfrom the deadly bay wherein the runaway train would have been smashedto pieces; the second lever set the distant signal against the special. It was a toss-up whether the special had not already passed the distantsignal, but he had to take that risk. 

Bones, with his arm round the girl, awaiting a noisy and violentdissolution, felt the "Mary Louisa" sway to the right when it shouldhave swayed to the left, heard the clang of the points as he passedthem, and drew a long breath when he found himself headed along astraight clear stretch of line. It was some time before he found hisvoice, and then it was little more than a squeak. 

"We're going to London, dear old thing, " he said tremulously. 

The girl smiled, though her face was deathly pale. 

"I thought we were going to heaven, " she said. 

"Never, dear old thing, " said Bones, recovering something of hisspirits as he saw the danger past. "Old Bones will never send youthere. "

The problem of the "Mary Louisa" was still unsettled. She was tearingaway like a Flying Dutchman. She was oozing steam at every pore, and, glancing back, Bones saw the agitated countenance of the aged guardthrust through the window. He waved frantically at Bones, and Boneswaved genially back again. 

He was turning back to make another attempt on the lever, when, lookingpast the guard, he saw a sight which brought his heart into his mouth. Pounding along behind him, and emitting feathers of steam from herwhistle, was an enormous locomotive. Bones guessed there was a trainbehind it, but the line was too straight for him to see. 

"Gracious heavens!" he gasped. "We're being chased!"

He jerked at the lever--though it was a moment when he should have leftit severely alone--and to his ill-founded joy it moved. 

The two trains came to a standstill together ten miles from BayhamJunction, and Bones climbed down into the six-foot way and walked back. 

Almost the first person he met was a gesticulating gentleman in a frockcoat and with a red face, who, mistaking him for an engine-driver, dismissed him on the spot, threatened him with imprisonment--with orwithout hard labour he did not specify--and demanded what the dickenshe meant by holding up a Cabinet Minister?

"Why, " chortled Bones, "isn't it my dear friend, Mr. Chenney?"

"Who are you, " snarled Mr. Chenney, "and what do you mean by calling meyour dear friend? By Heavens, I'll have you kicked out of thisservice!"

"Don't you know old Tibbetts?" cooed Bones. "Well, well, fancy meetingyou!"

He held out a grimy hand, which was not taken. 

"Tibbetts!" growled the gentleman. "Oh, you are the foo--the gentlemanwho bought the Lynhaven line, didn't you?"

"Certainly, " said Bones. 

"But what is your train doing here?" asked Mr. Chenney violently. "Don't you realise you are holding up a special? Great Heavens, man, this is very serious! You are holding up the business of the country!"

The engine-driver of the special came to the rescue. 

"There's a switch-over about half a mile further on, " he said. "There's not a down train due for an hour. I'll unlock the switch andput you on to the other line, and, after we have passed, you can comeon. "

"But I don't want to come on, dear old thing, " said Bones. "I want togo back. "

"Well, that's simple, " said the driver. 

He it was who piloted the Lynhaven express for another half-mile up theroad. He it was who found the switches, unlocked them, telegraphed tothe next station to hold up traffic, and he it was--Bones insisted uponthis--who brought the "Mary Louisa" along the switch to the down line. 

The position was as follows: The "Mary Louisa" was on the down line. Two coaches were between the down and the up line, and the guard's vanwas exactly on the up line, when the "Mary Louisa" refused to work anyfurther. 

Neither the experienced engine-driver, nor Bones, nor the stoker of thespecial, nor Mr. Chenney, nor the ancient guard, could coax the "MaryLouisa" to move another yard. The Lynhaven express stretched acrossboth lines and made all further progress for traffic impossible. 

Three hours later a breakdown gang arrived and towed the "Mary Louisa"and her appendages back to Bayham Junction. 

Bones and the girl went back to London by the last train, and Bones wasvery thoughtful and silent. 

But Bones was ever an optimist. The next morning he saw on a newspaperplacard: "Birthday Honours. Twenty-two New Knights. " And he actuallystopped his car, bought a paper, and searched the lists for his name. It was not there. 

CHAPTER XI

A STUDENT OF MEN

Mr. Jackson Hyane was one of those oldish-looking young men to whom thedescription of "man about town" most naturally applied. He was alwayswell-dressed and correctly dressed. You saw him at first nights. Hewas to be seen in the paddock at Ascot--it was a shock to discover thathe had not the Royal Enclosure badge on the lapel of his coat--and hewas to be met with at most of the social functions, attendance at whichdid not necessarily imply an intimate acquaintance with the leaders ofSociety, yet left the impression that the attendant was, at any rate, in the swim, and might very well be one of the principal swimmers. 

He lived off Albemarle Street in a tiny flat, and did no work of anykind whatever. His friends, especially his new friends, thought he"had a little money, " and knew, since he told them, that he hadexpectations. He did not tell them that his expectations were largelybound up in their credulity and faith in his integrity. Some of themdiscovered that later, but the majority drifted out of his circlepoorer without being wiser, for Mr. Hyane played a wonderful game ofpiquet, and seemed to be no more than abnormally lucky. 

His mother had been a Miss Whitland, his father was the notoriousColonel Hyane, who boasted that his library was papered with High Courtwrits, and who had had the distinction of being escorted from MonteCarlo by the police of the Principality. 

Mr. Jackson Hyane was a student of men and affairs. Very littleescaped his keen observation, and he had a trick of pigeon-holingpossibilities of profit, and forgetting them until the moment seemedripe for their exploitation. He was tall and handsome, with a smilewhich was worth at least five thousand pounds a year to him, for itadvertised his boyish innocence and enthusiasm--he who had never beeneither a boy or enthusiastic. 

One grey October day he put away his pass-book into a drawer and lockedit, and took from a mental pigeon-hole the materials of an immaturescheme. He dressed himself soberly and well, strolled down intoPiccadilly, and calling a cab, drove to the block of City buildingswhich housed the flourishing business of Tibbetts and Hamilton, Limited. 

The preliminaries to this invasion had been very carefully settled. Hehad met Miss Marguerite Whitland by "accident" a week before, hadcalled at her lodgings with an old photograph of her father, which hehad providentially discovered, and had secured from her a somewhatreluctant acceptance of an invitation to lunch. 

Bones looked up from his desk as the debonair young man strolled in. 

"You don't know me, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Jackson Hyane, flashing hisfamous smile. "My name is Hyane. "

It was his first meeting with Bones, but by no means the first timethat Jackson had seen him. 

"My dear old Hyane, sit down, " said Bones cheerfully. "What can we dofor you?"

Mr. Hyane laughed. 

"There's nothing you can do for me, except to spare your secretary foran hour longer than she usually takes. "

"My secretary?" said Bones quickly, and shot a suspicious glance at thevisitor. 

"I mean Miss Whitland, " said Hyane easily. "She is my cousin, youknow. My mother's brother was her father. "

"Oh, yes, " said Bones a little stiffly. 

He felt a sense of the strongest resentment against the late ProfessorWhitland. He felt that Marguerite's father had played rather a lowtrick on him in having a sister at all, and Mr. Hyane was too keen astudent to overlook Bones's obvious annoyance. 

"Yes, " he went on carelessly, "we are quite old friends, Marguerite andI, and you can't imagine how pleased I am that she has such anexcellent job as this. "

"Oh, yes, " said Bones, clearing his throat. "Very nice old--very goodtypewriter indeed, Mr. Hyane ... Very nice person ... Ahem!"

Marguerite, dressed for the street, came in from her office at thatmoment, and greeted her cousin with a little nod, which, to thedistorted vision of Bones, conveyed the impression of a lifelongfriendship. 

"I have just been asking Mr. Tibbetts, " said Hyane, "if he could spareyou for an extra hour. "

"I am afraid that can't----" the girl began. 

"Nonsense, nonsense!" said Bones, raising his voice as he invariablydid when he was agitated. "Certainly, my dear old--er--my dearyoung--er--certainly, Miss Marguerite, by all means, take your cousinto the Zoo ... I mean show him the sights. "

He was patently agitated, and watched the door close on the two youngpeople with so ferocious a countenance that Hamilton, a silent observerof the scene, could have laughed. 

Bones walked slowly back to his desk as Hamilton reached for his hat. 

"Come on, Bones, " he said briskly. "It's lunch time. I had no idea itwas so late. "

But Bones shook his head. 

"No, thank you, dear old thing, " he said sadly. "I'd rather not, ifyou don't mind. "

"Aren't you coming to lunch?" asked Hamilton, astonished. 

Bones shook his head. 

"No, dear old boy, " he said hollowly. "Ask the girl to send me up astiff glass of soda-water and a biscuit--I don't suppose I shall eatthe biscuit. "

"Nonsense!" said Hamilton. "Half an hour ago you were telling me youcould eat a cart-horse. "

"Not now, old Ham, " said Bones. "If you've ordered it, send it back. I hate cart-horses, anyway. "

"Come along, " wheedled Hamilton, dropping his hand on the other'sshoulder. "Come and eat. Who was the beautiful boy?"

"Beautiful boy?" laughed Bones bitterly. "A fop, dear old Ham! Atailor's dummy! A jolly old clothes-horse--that's what he was. Isimply loathe these people who leap around the City for a funeral. It's not right, dear old thing. It's not manly, dear old sport. Whatthe devil did her father have a sister for? I never knew anythingabout it. "

"They ought to have told you, " said Hamilton sympathetically. "Nowcome and have some food. "

But Bones refused. He was adamant. He would sit there and starve. Hedid not say as much, but he hinted that, when Hamilton returned, hisfamished and lifeless form would be found lying limply across the desk. Hamilton went out to lunch alone, hurried through his meal, and cameback to find Bones alive but unhappy. 

He sat making faces at the table, muttering incoherent words, gesticulating at times in the most terrifying manner, and finally threwhimself back into his deep chair, his hands thrust into his trouserspockets, the picture of dejection and misery. 

It was three o'clock when Miss Marguerite Whitland returned breathless, and, to Bones's jealous eye, unnecessarily agitated. 

"Come, come, dear old miss, " he said testily. "Bring your book. Iwish to dictate an important letter. Enjoyed your lunch?"

The last question was asked in so threatening a tone that the girlalmost jumped. 

"Yes--no, " she said. "Not very much really. "

"Ha, ha!" said Bones, insultingly sceptical, and she went red, flouncedinto her room, and returned, after five minutes, a haughty and distantyoung woman. 

"I don't think I want to dictate, dear old--dear young typewriter, " hesaid unhappily. "Leave me, please. "

"Really, my dear Bones, " protested Hamilton, when the girl had goneback, scarlet-faced to her office, "you're making a perfect ass ofyourself. If a girl cannot go to lunch with her cousin----"

Bones jumped up from his chair, shrugged his shoulders rapidly, andforced a hideous grin. 

"What does it matter to me, dear old Ham?" he asked. "Don't think I'mworried about a little thing like a typewriter going out to lunch. Pooh! Absurd! Tommy rot! No, my partner, I don't mind--in fact, Idon't care a----"

"Jot, " said Hamilton, with the gesture of an outraged bishop. 

"Of course not, " said Bones wildly. "What does it matter to me?Delighted that young typewriter should have a cousin, and all that sortof thing!"

"Then what the dickens is the matter with you?" asked Hamilton. 

"Nothing, " said Bones, and laughed more wildly than ever. 

Relationships between Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, Managing Director ofSchemes Limited, and Miss Marguerite Whitland, his heaven-sentsecretary, were strained to the point of breaking that afternoon. Shewent away that night without saying good-bye, and Bones, in a conditionof abject despair, walked home to Devonshire Street, and was within adozen yards of his flat, when he remembered that he had left hismotor-car in the City, and had to take a cab back to fetch it. 

"Bones, " said Hamilton the next morning, "do you realise the horriblegloom which has come over this office?"

"Gloom, dear old Ham?" said the dark-eyed Bones. He had spent thenight writing letters to Marguerite, and had exhausted all thestationery in sight in the process. "Gloom, old thing! Good gracious, no! Nobody is gloomy here!"

"I can tell you somebody who is, " said Hamilton grimly. "Thatunfortunate girl you've been barking at all the morning----"

"Barking at her?" gasped Bones. "Gracious Heavens, I haven't betrayedmy worried condition of mind, dear old thing? I thought I hid itrather well. "

"What on earth are you worried about?" asked Hamilton, and Bonesshrugged. 

"Oh, nothing, " he said. "Nothing at all. A little fever, dear oldthing, contracted in the service of King--God bless him!--and country. "

Hamilton's words had this effect, that he brightened visibly, and forthe rest of the morning was almost normal. His spirits took a quickdownward turn at five minutes to one, when the debonair Mr. Hyaneappeared most unexpectedly. 

"I'm afraid you'll think I'm a most awful nuisance, Mr. Tibbetts, " hesaid, "but there are so many things which I must really talk to mycousin about--family affairs, you know. "

"Don't apologise, " said Bones gruffly. 

"I shan't keep her beyond the hour, " smiled Mr. Hyane. "I realise thatyou are a very busy man. "

Bones said nothing, and when Marguerite Whitland appeared, he hadgained sufficient control of his emotions to indulge in a feeble jest. The girl's face was a study at the sight of her cousin. Hamilton, adisinterested observer, read astonishment, annoyance, and resignationin the wide-opened eyes. Bones, who prided himself upon a workingknowledge of physiognomy, diagnosed the same symptoms as conveying adeep admiration combined with the re-awakening of a youthful love. 

"Hello, Jackson!" she said coldly. "I didn't expect to see you. "

"I told you I would call, " he smiled. "I must see you, Marguerite, andMr. Tibbetts has been so kind that I am sure he will not mind me----"

"Mr. Tibbetts is not concerned about the manner in which I spend mylunch hour, " she said stiffly, and Bones groaned inwardly. 

There was a silence which Hamilton had not the heart to break after thetwo had gone, and it was Bones who uttered the first comment. 

"That's that, " he said, and his voice was so quiet and normal thatHamilton stared at him in astonishment. 

"Let's have lunch, " said Bones briskly, and led the way out. 

Not even when Miss Whitland came to him that afternoon and asked forpermission to take two days' holiday did his manner change. With acourtesy entirely free from that extravagance to which she had grownaccustomed, he acceded to her request, and she was on the point ofexplaining to him the reason she had so unexpectedly asked for avacation, but the memory of his earlier manner checked her. 

It was a very simple explanation. Jackson Hyane was a very plausibleman. Marguerite Whitland had heard something of her erratic cousin, but certainly nothing in his manner supported the more luriddescriptions of his habits. And Mr. Jackson Hyane had begged her, inthe name of their relationships, to take a trip to Aberdeen to examinetitle-deeds which, he explained, would enable her to join with him inan action of the recovery of valuable Whitland property which was indanger of going to the Crown, and she had consented. 

The truth was, there had always been some talk in the family of theseestates, though nobody knew better than Jackson Hyane how unsubstantialwere the claims of the Whitlands to the title. But the Scottish estatehad been docketed away in the pigeon-holes of his mind, and promised tobe more useful than he had anticipated. 

That afternoon he packed his bag at his flat, put his passport andrailway tickets together in his inside pocket, and made his finalpreparations for departure. 

An old crony of his called whilst he was drinking the cup of tea whichthe housekeeper of the flats had prepared, and took in the situationrevealed by the packed suit-cases and the burnt papers in the hearth. 

"Hello, Johnny!" he said. "You're getting out, eh?"

Jackson nodded. There was no need to pretend anything with one of hisown class. 

"Couldn't you square the bank?"

Jackson shook his head. 

"No, Billy, " he said cheerfully, "I couldn't square it. At thisidentical moment there are several eminent people in the West End ofLondon who are making applications for warrants. "

"Dud cheques, eh?" asked the other thoughtfully. "Well, it had tocome, Johnny. You've had a lot of bad luck. "

"Atrocious, " said Mr. Jackson Hyane. "There's plenty of money in Town, but it's absolutely impossible to get at it. I haven't touched a mugfor two months, and I've backed more seconds than I care to thinkabout. Still, " he mused, "there's a chance. "

His friends nodded. In their circle there was always "a chance, " buthe could not guess that that chance which the student of men, Mr. Jackson Hyane, was banking upon answered indifferently to the name ofTibbetts or Bones. 

At half-past eight that night he saw his cousin off from King's Cross. He had engaged a sleeper for her, and acted the part of dutifulrelative to the life, supplying her with masses of literature to whileaway the sleepless hours of the journey. 

"I feel awfully uncomfortable about going away, " said the girl, in atroubled voice. "Mr. Tibbetts would say that he could spare me even ifhe were up to his eyes in work. And I have an uncomfortable feeling atthe back of my mind that there was something I should have toldhim--and didn't. "

"Queer bird, Tibbetts!" said the other curiously. "They call himBones, don't they?"

"I never do, " said the girl quietly; "only his friends have thatprivilege. He is one of the best men I have ever met. "

"Sentimental, quixotic, and all that sort of thing, eh?" said Jackson, and the girl flushed. 

"He has never been sentimental with me, " she said, but did not deceivethe student of men. 

When the train had left the station, he drove straightaway toDevonshire Street. Bones was in his study, reading, or pretending toread, and the last person he expected to see that evening was Mr. Jackson Hyane. But the welcome he gave to that most unwelcome visitorbetrayed neither his distrust nor his frank dislike of the youngwell-groomed man in evening-dress who offered him his hand with such agesture of good fellowship. 

"Sit down, Mr. --er----" said Bones. 

There was a cold, cold feeling at his heart, a sense of comingdisaster, but Bones facing the real shocks and terrors of life was adifferent young man from the Bones who fussed and fumed over itstrifles. 

"I suppose you wonder why I have come to see you, Mr. Tibbetts, " saidHyane, taking a cigarette from the silver box on the table. "I ratherwonder why I have the nerve to see you myself. I've come on a verydelicate matter. "

There was a silence. 

"Indeed?" said Bones a little huskily, and he knew instinctively whatthat delicate matter was. 

"It is about Marguerite, " said Mr. Hyane. 

Bones inclined his head. 

"You see, we have been great pals all our lives, " went on JacksonHyane, pulling steadily at the cigarette--"in fact, sweethearts. "

His keen eyes never left the other's face, and he read all he wanted toknow. 

"I am tremendously fond of Marguerite, " he went on, "and I think I amnot flattering myself when I say that Marguerite is tremendously fondof me. I haven't been especially fortunate, and I have never had themoney which would enable me to offer Marguerite the kind of life whicha girl so delicately nurtured should have. "

"Very admirable, " said Bones, and his voice came to his own ears as thevoice of a stranger. 

"A few days ago, " Mr. Hyane went on, "I was offered a tea plantationfor fourteen thousand pounds. The prospects were so splendid that Iwent to a financier who is a friend of mine, and he undertook toprovide the money, on which, of course, I agreed to pay an interest. The whole future, which had been so black, suddenly became as bright asday. I came to Marguerite, as you saw, with the news of my good luck, and asked her if she would be my wife. "

Bones said nothing; his face was a mask. 

"And now I come to my difficulty, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Hyane. "Thisafternoon Marguerite and I played upon you a little deception which Ihope you will forgive. "

"Certainly, certainly" mumbled Bones, and gripped the arms of his chairthe tighter. 

"When I took Marguerite to lunch to-day, " said Hyane, "it was tobe--married. "

"Married!" repeated Bones dully, and Mr. Hyane nodded. 

"Yes, we were married at half-past one o'clock to-day at the MaryleboneRegistry Office, and I was hoping that Marguerite would be able to tellyou her good news herself. Perhaps"--he smiled--"it isn't as good newsto her as it is to me. But this afternoon a most tragic thinghappened. "

He threw away his cigarette, rose, and paced the room with agitatedstrides. He had practised those very strides all that morning, for heleft nothing to chance. 

"At three o'clock this afternoon I called upon my financier friend, anddiscovered that, owing to heavy losses which he had incurred on theStock Exchange, he was unable to keep his promise. I feel terrible, Mr. Tibbetts! I feel that I have induced Marguerite to marry me underfalse pretences. I had hoped to-morrow morning to have gone to theagents of the estate and placed in their hands the cheque for fourteenthousand pounds, and to have left by the next mail boat for India. "

He sank into the chair, his head upon his hands, and Bones watched himcuriously. 

Presently, and after an effort, Bones found his voice. 

"Does your--your--wife know?" he asked. 

Jackson shook his head. 

"No, " he groaned, "that's the terrible thing about it. She hasn't theslightest idea. What shall I tell her? What shall I tell her?"

"It's pretty rotten, old--Mr. Hyane. " Bones found his voice after awhile. "Deuced rotten for the young miss--for Mrs. --for her. "

He did not move from his chair, nor relax his stiff expression. He washurt beyond his own understanding, frantically anxious to end theinterview, but at a loss to find an excuse until his eyes fell upon theclock over the mantelpiece. 

"Come back at ten--no, half-past ten, young Mr. ... Awfully busy now... See you at half-past ten, eh?"

Mr. Hyane made a graceful exit, and left Bones alone with the shatteredfragments of great romance. 

So that was why she had gone off in such a hurry, and she had not daredto tell him. But why not? He was nothing to her ... He would neversee her again! The thought made him cold. Never again! Never again!He tried to summon that business fortitude of his, of which he was soproud. He wanted some support, some moral support in this moment ofacute anguish. Incidentally he wanted to cry, but didn't. 

She ought to have given him a week's notice, he told himself fiercely, than laughed hysterically at the thought. He considered the matterfrom all its aspects and every angle, and was no nearer to peace ofmind when, at half-past ten to the second, Mr. Jackson Hyane returned. 

But Bones had formed one definite conclusion, and had settled upon theaction he intended taking. Mr. Hyane, entering the study, saw thecheque book on the desk, and was cheered. Bones had to clear his voiceseveral times before he could articulate. 

"Mr. Hyane, " he said huskily, "I have been thinking matters out. I ama great admirer of yours--of your--of yours--a tremendous admirer ofyours, Mr. Hyane. Anything that made her happy, old Mr. Hyane, wouldmake me happy. You see?"

"I see, " said Mr. Hyane, and he had the satisfaction of knowing thathe, a student of men, had not misread his victim. 

"Fourteen thousand pounds, " said Bones, turning abruptly to the deskand seizing his pen. "Make it payable to you?"

"You're too kind, " murmured Hyane. "Make it an open cheque, Mr. Tibbetts--I have to pay the agents in cash. These Indian merchants areso suspicious. "

Bones wrote the cheque rapidly, marked it "Pay Cash, " and initialledthe corrections, then tore the slip from the book and handed it to theother. 

"Of course, Mr. Tibbetts, " said Hyane reverentially, "I regard halfthis as a loan to me and half as a loan to my dear wife. We shallnever forget your kindness. "

"Rot!" said Bones. "Nonsense! I hope you'll be happy, and will youtell her----" He swallowed something. 

There was a faint tinkle of a bell in the hall, and Ali, his servant, poked an ebony face round the corner of the door. 

"Sir, " he said, "the telephonic apparatus demands conversation. "

Bones was glad of the interruption, and, with a muttered apology to hisgratified guest, he strode out into the hall. Ali had accustomedhimself to answering the telephone, but this time he had not understoodthe preliminary inquiry from exchange. 

"Hello!" said Bones into the transmitter. 

"Who's that?"

At the sound of the voice which answered him he nearly dropped thereceiver. 

"Is that Mr. Tibbetts?"

"Yes, " said Bones hoarsely, and his heart beat a wild rataplan. 

"I'm speaking from York, Mr. Tibbetts. I wanted to tell you that thekey of the safe is in the drawer of my desk--the top drawer. "

"That's all right, dear old--dear Mrs. Hyane. "

"What is that you say?" asked the voice sharply. 

"Congratulations, dear old missus, " said Bones. "Hope you'll beawfully happy on your plantation. "

"What do you mean?" asked the voice. "Did you call me Mrs. Hyane?"

"Yes, " said Bones huskily. 

He heard her laugh. 

"How ridiculous you are! Did you really think I would ever marry mycousin?"

"But haven't you?" yelled Bones. 

"What--married? Absurd! I'm going to Scotland to see about somefamily matter. "

"You're not--not a Mrs. ?" asked Bones emphatically. 

"And never will be, " said the girl. "What does it all mean? Tell me. "

Bones drew a long breath. 

"Come back by the next train, young miss, " he said. "Let that jollyold family affair go to blazes. I'll meet you at the station and tellyou everything. "

"But--but----" said the girl. 

"Do as you're told, young miss!" roared Bones, and hung up the receiverwith a seraphic smile. 

The door of his study was a thick one, and it was, moreover, protectedfrom outside noises by a large baize door, and the student of men hadheard nothing. Bones strode back into the room with a face so changedthat Mr. Hyane could not but observe that something remarkable hadhappened. 

"I'm afraid I'm keeping you up, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said. 

"Not at all, " said Bones cheerfully. "Let's have a look at that chequeI gave you. "

The other hesitated. 

"Let me have a look at it, " said Bones, and Mr. Hyane, with a smile, took it from his pocket and handed it to the other. 

"Half for you and half for her, eh, dear old thing?" said Bones, andtore the cheque in two. "That's your half, " he said, handing oneportion to Mr. Hyane. 

"What the devil are you doing?" demanded the other angrily, but Boneshad him by the collar, and was kicking him along the all-too-shortcorridor. 

"Open the door, Ali!" said Bones. "Open it wide, dear old heathen!Ooff!"

The "Ooff!" was accompanied by one final lunge of Bones's long legs. 

At midnight Bones was sitting on the platform at King's Cross, alternately smoking a large pipe and singing tuneless songs. They toldhim that the next train from York would not arrive until three in themorning. 

"That doesn't worry me, old thing. I'll wait all night. "

"Expecting somebody, sir?" asked the inquisitive porter. 

"Everybody, my dear old uniformed official, " said Bones, "everybody!"

CHAPTER XII

BONES HITS BACK

It may be said of Bones that he was in the City, but not of it. Neveronce had he been invited by the great and awe-inspiring men whodominate the finance of the City to participate in any of thoseadventurous undertakings which produce for the adventurers the fabulousprofits about which so much has been written. There were times whenBones even doubted whether the City knew he was in it. 

He never realised his own insignificance so poignantly as when hestrolled through the City streets at their busiest hour, and wasunrecognised even by the bareheaded clerks who dashed madly in alldirections, carrying papers of tremendous importance. 

The indifference of the City to Mr. Tibbetts and his partner was moreapparent than real. It is true that the great men who sit around thegreen baize cloth at the Bank of England and arrange the bank rate knewnot Bones nor his work. It is equally true that the very importantpersonages who occupy suites of rooms in Lombard Street had little orno idea of his existence. But there were men, and rich and famous menat that, who had inscribed the name of Bones in indelible ink on thetablets of their memory. 

The Pole Brothers were shipbrokers, and had little in common, in theirdaily transactions, with Mr. Harold de Vinne, who specialised inindustrial stocks, and knew little more about ships than could belearnt in an annual holiday trip to Madeira. Practically there was nobridge to connect their intellects. Sentimentally, life held a commoncause, which they discovered one day, when Mr. Fred Pole met Mr. Haroldde Vinne at lunch to discuss a matter belonging neither to the realmsof industrialism nor the mercantile marine, being, in fact, thequestion of Mr. De Vinne leasing or renting Mr. Pole's handsomeriverside property at Maidenhead for the term of six months. 

They might not have met even under these circumstances, but for thefact that some dispute arose as to who was to pay the gardener. Thatmatter had been amicably settled, and the two had reached the coffeestage of their luncheon, when Mr. De Vinne mentioned theinadvisability--as a rule--of discussing business matters at lunch, andcited a deplorable happening when an interested eavesdropper hadoverheard certain important negotiations and had most unscrupulouslytaken advantage of his discovery. 

"One of these days, " said Mr. De Vinne between his teeth, "I'll be evenwith that gentleman. " (He did not call him a gentleman. ) "I'll givehim Tibbetts! He'll be sorry he was ever born. "

"Tibbetts?" said Mr. Fred Pole, sitting bolt upright. "Not Bones?"

The other nodded and seemed surprised. 

"You don't know the dear fellow, do you?" he asked, only he did not usethe expression "dear fellow. "

"Know him?" said Mr. Fred, taking a long breath. "I should jolly wellsay I did know him. And my brother Joe knows him. That fellow----"

"That fellow----" began Mr. De Vinne, and for several minutes theytalked together in terms which were uncomplimentary to AugustusTibbetts. 

It appeared, though they did not put the matter so crudely, that theyhad both been engaged in schemes for robbing Bones, and that in thepursuance of their laudable plans they had found themselves robbed byBones. 

Mr. De Vinne ordered another coffee and prepared to make an afternoonof it. They discussed Bones from several aspects and in variouslights, none of which revealed his moral complexion at its best. 

"And believe me, " said Mr. De Vinne at the conclusion of his addressfor the prosecution, "there's money to be made out of that fellow. Why, I believe he has three hundred thousand pounds. "

"Three hundred and forty thousand, " said the more accurate Mr. Fred. 

"A smart man could get it all, " said Harold de Vinne, with conviction. "And when I say a smart man, I mean two smart men. I never thoughtthat he had done anybody but me. It's funny I never heard of yourcase, " he said. "He must have got the best of you in the early days. "

Mr. Fred nodded. 

"I was his first"--he swallowed hard and added--"mug!"

Mr. De Vinne pulled thoughtfully at his black cigar and eyed theceiling of the restaurant absent-mindedly. 

"There's nobody in the City who knows more about Tibbetts than me, " hesaid. He was weak on the classical side, but rather strong onmathematics. "I've watched every transaction he's been in, and I thinkI have got him down fine. "

"Mind you, " said Fred, "I think he's clever. "

"Clever!" said the other scornfully. "Clever! He's lucky, my dearchap. Things have just fallen into his lap. It's mug's luck that manhas had. "

Mr. Fred nodded. It was an opinion which he himself had held andruminated upon. 

"It is luck--sheer luck, " continued Mr. De Vinne. "And if we'd beenclever, we'd have cleaned him. We'll clean him yet, " he said, strokinghis chin more thoughtfully than ever, "but it's got to be donesystematically. "

Mr. Fred was interested. The possibility of relieving afellow-creature of his superfluous wealth by legitimate means, andunder the laws and rules which govern the legal transfer of property, was the absorbing interest of his life. 

"It has got to be done cleverly, scientifically, and systematically, "said Mr. De Vinne, "and there's no sense in jumping to a plan. What doyou say to taking a bit of dinner with me at the Ritz-Carlton onFriday?"

Mr. Fred was very agreeable. 

"I'll tell you the strength of Bones, " said de Vinne, as they left therestaurant. "He was an officer on the West Coast of Africa. His bosswas a man named Sanders, who's left the Service and lives atTwickenham. From what I can hear, this chap Tibbetts worships theground that Sanders walks on. Evidently Sanders was a big bug in WestAfrica. "

On Friday they resumed their conversation, and Mr. De Vinne arrivedwith a plan. It was a good plan. He was tremulous with pride at thethought of it, and demanded applause and approval with every secondbreath, which was unlike him. 

He was a man of many companies, good, bad, and indifferent, and, reviewing the enterprises with which his name was associated, he had, without the slightest difficulty, placed his finger upon the leastprofitable and certainly the most hopeless proposition in the MazeppaTrading Company. And nothing could be better for Mr. De Vinne'spurpose, not, as he explained to Fred Pole, if he had searched theStock Exchange Year Book from cover to cover. 

Once upon a time the Mazeppa Trading Company had been a profitableconcern. Its trading stores had dotted the African hinterland thickly. It had exported vast quantities of Manchester goods and Birminghamjunk, and had received in exchange unlimited quantities of rubber andivory. But those were in the bad old days, before authority came andtaught the aboriginal natives the exact value of a sixpennylooking-glass. 

No longer was it possible to barter twenty pounds' worth of ivory forthreepennyworth of beads, and the flourishing Mazeppa Trading Companylanguished and died. Its managers had grown immensely wealthy fromtheir peculations and private trading, and had come home and wereoccupying opulent villas at Wimbledon, whilst the new men who had beensent to take their places had been so inexperienced that profits fellto nothing. That, in brief, was the history of the Mazeppa TradingCompany, which still maintained a few dilapidated stores, managed byhalf-castes and poor whites. 

"I got most of the shares for a song, " confessed Mr. De Vinne. "Infact, I happen to be one of the debenture-holders, and stepped in whenthings were going groggy. We've been on the point of winding it up--itis grossly over-capitalised--but I kept it going in the hope thatsomething would turn up. "

"What is the general idea?" asked Mr. Fred Pole, interested. 

"We'll get a managing director, " said Mr. De Vinne solemnly. "A manwho is used to the handling of natives, a man acquainted with the WestCoast of Africa, a man who can organise. "

"Bones?" suggested Mr. Fred. 

"Bones be--jiggered!" replied de Vinne scornfully. "Do you think he'dfall for that sort of thing? Not on your life! We're not going tomention it to Bones. But he has a pal--Sanders; you've heard of him. He's a commissioner or something on the West Coast, and retired. Now, my experience of a chap of that kind who retires is that he gets sickto death of doing nothing. If we could only get at him and persuadehim to accept the managing directorship, with six months a year on theCoast, at a salary of, say, two thousand a year, conditional on takingup six or seven thousand pounds' worth of shares, what do you thinkwould happen?"

Mr. Fred's imagination baulked at the problem, and he shook his head. 

"I'll tell you what would happen, " said Mr. De Vinne. "It happenedonce before, when another pal of Bones got let in on a motor carcompany. Bones fell over himself to buy the shares and control thecompany. And, mind you, the Mazeppa looks good. It's the sort ofproposition that would appeal to a young and energetic man. It's oneof those bogy companies that seem possible, and a fellow who knows theropes would say straight away: 'If I had charge of that, I'd make itpay. ' That's what I'm banking on. "

"What are the shares worth?" said Fred. 

"About twopence net, " replied the other brutally. "I'll tell youfrankly that I'd run this business myself if I thought there was anychance of my succeeding. But if Bones finds all the shares in onehand, he's going to shy. What I'm prepared to do is this. Theseshares are worth twopence. I'm going to sell you and a few friendsparcels at a shilling a share. If nothing happens, I'll undertake tobuy them back at the same price. "

A week later Hamilton brought news to the office of Tibbetts andHamilton, Limited. 

"The chief is going back to the Coast. "

Bones opened his mouth wide in astonishment. 

"Back to the Coast?" he said incredulously. "You don't mean he'schucking jolly old Twickenham?"

Hamilton nodded. 

"He's had an excellent offer from some people in the City to control atrading company. By the way, did you ever hear of the MazeppaCompany?" Bones shook his head. 

"I've heard of Mazeppa, " he said. "He was the naughty old gentlemanwho rode through the streets of Birmingham without any clothes. "

Hamilton groaned. 

"If I had your knowledge of history, " he said despairingly, "I'd starta bone factory. You're thinking of Lady Godiva, but that doesn'tmatter. No, I don't suppose you've heard of the Mazeppa Company; itdid not operate in our territory. "

Bones shook his head and pursed his lips. 

"But surely, " he said, "dear old Excellency hasn't accepted a jobwithout consulting me?"

Hamilton made derisive noises. 

"He fixed it up in a couple of days, " he said, after a while. "Itdoesn't mean he'll be living on the Coast, but he'll probably be therefor some months in the year. The salary is good--in fact, it's twothousand a year. I believe Sanders has to qualify for directorship bytaking some shares, but the dear chap is enthusiastic about it, and sois Patricia. It is all right, of course. Sanders got the offerthrough a firm of solicitors. "

"Pooh!" said Bones. "Solicitors are nobody. "

He learnt more about the company that afternoon, for Sanders called inand gave a somewhat roseate view of the future. 

"The fact is, Bones, I am getting stale, " he said, "and this looks likean excellent and a profitable occupation. "

"How did you get to hear about it, Excellency?". Asked Bones. 

His attitude was one of undisguised antagonism. He might have been alittle resentful that the opportunity had come to Sanders through anyother agency than his own. 

"I had a letter from the solicitors asking me if the idea appealed tome, and recalling my services on the Coast, " said Sanders. "Of courseI know very little about the Mazeppa Trading Company, though I hadheard of it years gone past as a very profitable concern. Thesolicitors were quite frank, and told me that business had fallen off, due to inexperienced management. They pointed out the opportunitieswhich existed--the possibilities of opening new stations--and I mustconfess that it appealed to me. It will mean hard work, but the salaryis good. "

"Hold hard, Sir and Excellency, " said Bones. "What did you have to putup in the way of shares?"

Sanders flushed. He was a shy man, and not given to talking about hismoney affairs. 

"Oh, about five thousand pounds, " he said awkwardly. "Of course, it'sa lot of money; but even if the business isn't successful, I have afive-year contract with the company, and I get more than my investmentback in salary. "

That night Bones stayed on after Hamilton had left, and had forcompanion Miss Marguerite Whitland, a lady in whose judgment he had amost embarrassing faith. He had given her plenty of work to do, andthe rhythmical tap-tap of her typewriter came faintly through the doorwhich separated the outer from the inner office. 

Bones sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, a very thoughtful youngman, and before him was a copy of the latest evening newspaper, openedat the Stock Exchange page. There had been certain significantmovements in industrial shares--a movement so interesting to thecommentator upon Stock Exchange doings that he had inserted a paragraphto the effect that:

"The feature of the industrial market was the firmness of MazeppaTrading shares, for which there was a steady demand, the stock closingat 19_s_. 9_d_. Mazeppa shares have not been dealt in within the Housefor many years, and, in fact, it was generally believed that theCompany was going into liquidation, and the shares could be had for theprice of the paper on which they were printed. It is rumoured in theCity that the Company is to be reconstructed, and that a considerableamount of new capital has been found, with the object of expanding itsexisting business. "

Bones read the paragraph many times, and at the conclusion of eachreading returned to his reverie. Presently he rose and strolled intothe office of his secretary, and the girl looked up with a smile asBones seated himself on the edge of her table. 

"Young miss, " he said soberly, "do you ever hear anybody talking aboutme in this jolly old City?"

"Why, yes, " she said in surprise. 

"Fearfully complimentarily, dear old miss?" asked Bones carelessly, andthe girl's colour deepened. 

"I don't think it matters what people say about one, do you?"

"It doesn't matter to me, " said Bones, "so long as one lovely oldtypewriter has a good word for poor old Bones. " He laid his hand uponhers, and she suffered it to remain there without protest. "They thinkI'm a silly old ass, don't they?"

"Oh, no, " she said quickly, "they don't think that. They say you'rerather unconventional. "

"Same thing, " said Bones. "Anybody who's unconventional in business isa silly old ass. "

He squeezed the hand under his, and again she did not protest orwithdraw it from his somewhat clammy grip. 

"Dear old darling----" began Bones, but she stopped him with a warningfinger. 

"Dear old typewriter, " said Bones, unabashed, but obedient, "supposesomething happened to the clever old Johnny who presides over thisoffice--the brains of the department, if I may be allowed to say so?"

"Captain Hamilton?" said the girl in surprise. 

"No, me, " said Bones, annoyed. "Gracious Heavens, dear old key-tapper, didn't I say me?"

"Something happen to you?" she said in alarm. "Why, what could happento you?"

"Suppose I went broke?" said Bones, with the comfortable air of one whowas very unlikely to go broke. "Suppose I had terrific and tremendousand cataclysmic and what's-the-other-word losses?"

"But you're not likely to have those, are you?" she asked. 

"Not really, " said Bones, "but suppose?"

She saw that, for once, when he was speaking to her, his mind waselsewhere, and withdrew her hand. It was a fact that Bones did notseem to notice the withdrawal. 

"Poor old Bones, poor old mug!" said Bones softly. "I'm a funny olddevil. "

The girl laughed. 

"I don't know what you're thinking about, " she said, "but you neverstrike me as being particularly funny, or poor, or old, for the matterof that, " she added demurely. 

Bones stooped down from the table and laid his big hand on her head, rumpling her hair as he might have done to a child. 

"You're a dear old Marguerite, " he said softly, "and I'm not such aditherer as you think. Now, you watch old Bones. " And, with thatcryptic remark, he stalked back to his desk. 

Two days after this he surprised Hamilton. 

"I'm expecting a visitor to-day, old Ham, " he said. "A Johnny named deVinne. "

"De Vinne?" frowned Hamilton. "I seem to know that name. Isn't he thegentleman you had the trouble with over the boots?"

"That's the jolly old robber, " said Bones cheerfully. "I'vetelegraphed and asked him to come to see me. "

"About what?" demanded Hamilton. 

"About two o'clock, " said Bones. "You can stay and see your old friendthrough, or you can let us have it out with the lad in camera. "

"I'll stay, " said Hamilton. "But I don't think he'll come. "

"I do, " said Bones confidently, and he was justified in his confidence, for at two o'clock to the second Mr. De Vinne appeared. 

He was bright and cheerful, even genial to Bones, and Bones was almosteffusive in his welcome. 

"Sit down there in the most comfortable chair, happy old financier, " hesaid, "and open your young heart to old Bones about the Mazeppa TradingCompany. "

Mr. De Vinne did not expect so direct an attack, but recovered from hissurprise without any apparent effort. 

"Oh, so you know I was behind that, do you? How the dickens did youfind out?"

"Stock Exchange Year Book, dear old thing. Costs umpteen and sixpence, and you can find out everything you want to know about the directors ofcompanies, " said Bones. 

"By Jove! That's clever of you, " said de Vinne, secretly amused, forit was from the Year Book that he expected Bones to make the discovery. 

"Now, what's the game, old financial gentleman?" asked Bones. "Whythis fabulous salary to friend Sanders and selling this thousands ofpounds worth of shares, eh?"

The other shrugged his shoulders. 

"My dear chap, it's a business transaction. And really, if I thoughtyou were going to interrogate me on that, I shouldn't have come. IsMr. Sanders a friend of yours?" he asked innocently. 

"Shurrup!" said Bones vulgarly. "You know jolly well he's a friend ofmine. Now, what is the idea, young company promoter?"

"It's pretty obvious, " replied de Vinne, taking the expensive cigarwhich Bones had imported into the office for the purpose. "Theposition is a good one----"

"Half a mo', " said Bones. "Do you personally guarantee Mr. Sanders'ssalary for five years?"

The other laughed. 

"Of course not. It is a company matter, " he said, "and I shouldcertainly not offer a personal guarantee for the payment of any salary. "

"So that, if the company goes bust in six months' time, Mr. Sandersloses all the money he has invested and his salary?"

The other raised his shoulders again with a deprecating smile. 

"He would, of course, have a claim against the company for his salary, "he said. 

"A fat lot of good that would be!" answered Bones. 

"Now, look here, Mr. Tibbetts"--the other leaned confidentiallyforward, his unlighted cigar between his teeth--"there is no reason inthe world why the Mazeppa Company shouldn't make a fortune for theright man. All it wants is new blood and capable direction. Iconfess, " he admitted, "that I have not the time to give to thecompany, otherwise I'd guarantee a seven per cent. Dividend on theshare capital. Why, look at the price of them to-day----"

Bones stopped him. 

"Any fool can get the shares up to any price he likes, if they're allheld in one hand, " he said. 

"What?" said the outraged Mr. De Vinne. "Do you suggest I have riggedthe market? Besides, they're not all in one hand. They're prettyevenly distributed. "

"Who holds 'em?" asked Bones curiously. 

"Well, I've got a parcel, and Pole Brothers have a parcel. "

"Pole Brothers, eh?" said Bones, nodding. "Well, well!"

"Come, now, be reasonable. Don't be suspicious, Mr. Tibbetts, " saidthe other genially. "Your friend's interests are all right, and theshareholders' interests are all right. You might do worse than getcontrol of the company yourself. "

Bones nodded. 

"I was thinking of that, " he said. 

"I assure you, " said Mr. De Vinne with great earnestness, "that thepossibilities of the Mazeppa Trading Company are unlimited. We haveconcessions from the Great River to the north of the Frenchterritory----"

"Not worth the paper they're written on, dear old kidder, " said Bones, shaking his head. "Chiefs' concessions without endorsement from theColonial Office are no good, dear old thing. "

"But the trading concessions are all right, " insisted the other. "Youcan't deny that. You understand the Coast customs better than I do. Trading customs hold without endorsement from the Colonial Office. "

Bones had to admit that that was a fact. 

"I'll think it over, " he said. "It appeals to me, old de Vinne. Itreally does appeal to me. Who own the shares?"

"I can give you a list, " said Mr. De Vinne, with admirable calm, "andyou'd be well advised to negotiate privately with these gentlemen. You'd probably get the shares for eighteen shillings. " He took a goldpencil from his pocket and wrote rapidly a list of names, and Bonestook the paper from his hand and scrutinised them. 

Hamilton, a silent and an amazed spectator of the proceedings, waiteduntil de Vinne had gone, and then fell upon his partner. 

"You're not going to be such a perfect jackass----" he began, butBones's dignified gesture arrested his eloquence. 

"Dear old Ham, " he said, "senior partner, dear old thing! Let oldBones have his joke. "

"Do you realise, " said Hamilton, "that you are contemplating the riskof a quarter of a million? You're mad, Bones!"

Bones grinned. 

"Go down to our broker and buy ten thousand shares in old Mazeppa, Ham, " he said. "You'll buy them on the market for nineteen shillings, and I've an idea that they're worth about the nineteenth part of afarthing. "

"But----" stammered Hamilton. 

"It is an order, " said Bones, and he spoke in the Bomongo tongue. 

"Phew!" said Hamilton. "That carries me a few thousand miles. Iwonder what those devils of the N'gombi are doing now?"

"I'll tell you something they're not doing, " said Bones. "They're notbuying Mazeppa shares. "

There were two very deeply troubled people in the office of Tibbettsand Hamilton. One was Hamilton himself, and the other was MissMarguerite Whitland. Hamilton had two causes for worry. The first andthe least was the strange extravagance of Bones. The second--and thiswas more serious--was the prospect of breaking to Sanders that nightthat he had been swindled, for swindled he undoubtedly was. Hamiltonhad spent a feverish hour canvassing City opinion on the MazeppaTrading Company, and the report he had had was not encouraging. Hehad, much against his will, carried out the instructions of Bones, andhad purchased in the open market ten thousand shares in the Company--atransaction duly noted by Mr. De Vinne and his interested partner. 

"He is biting, " said that exultant man over the 'phone. "All we haveto do is to sit steady, and he'll swallow the hook!"

It was impossible that Marguerite Whitland should not know the extentof her employer's commitments. She was a shrewd girl, and had acquireda very fair working knowledge of City affairs during the period of heremployment. She had, too, an instinct for a swindle, and she waspanic-stricken at the thought that Bones was marching headlong tofinancial disaster. Hamilton had gone home to his disagreeable task, when the girl came from her office and stood, her hands clasped behindher, before the desk of the senior partner. 

Bones peered up in his short-sighted way. 

"Well, young miss?" he said quietly. 

"Mr. Tibbetts, " she began a little unsteadily, "I'm going to be veryimpertinent. "

"Not at all, " murmured Bones. 

"I've been with you for some time now, " said the girl, speakingrapidly, "and I feel that I have a better right to talk to youthan--than----"

"Than anybody in the whole wide world, " said Bones, "and that's a fact, dear young Marguerite. "

"Yes, yes, " she said hurriedly, "but this is something about business, and about--about this deal which you're going into. I've been talkingto Captain Hamilton this afternoon, while you were out, and I know it'sa swindle. "

"I know that, too, " said Bones calmly. 

"But, " said the puzzled girl, "you are putting all your money into it. Mr. Hamilton said that, if this failed, you might be ruined. "

Bones nodded. Outwardly calm, the light of battle shone in his eye. 

"It's a gamble, dear young typewriter, " he said, "a terrific gamble, but it's going to turn out all right for did Bones. "

"But Mr. Hamilton said you can't possibly make anything from theproperty--that it is derelict and worth practically nothing. Only atenth of the stores are open, and the trading is----"

Bones smiled. 

"I'm not gambling on the property, " he said softly. "Oh, dear, no, young fiancée, I'm not gambling on the property. "

"Then what on earth are you gambling on?" she asked, a little piqued. 

"On me, " said Bones in the same tone. "On poor old silly ass Bones, and I'm coming through!"

He got up and came across to her and laid his big hand on her shouldergently. 

"If I don't come through, I shan't be a beggar. I shall have enough tobuild a jolly little place, where we can raise cows and horses andvegetables of all descriptions, dear old typewriter. And if I do comethrough, we'll still have that same place--only perhaps we'll have morecows and a pig or two. "

She laughed, and he raised her smiling lips to his and kissed them. 

Mr. De Vinne had dined well and had enjoyed an evening's amusement. Hehad been to the Hippodrome, and his enjoyment had been made the morepiquant by the knowledge that Mr. Augustus Tibbetts had as good asplaced ten thousand pounds in his pocket. He was a surprised man, onreturning to Sloane Square, to discover, waiting in the hall, hisunwilling benefactor. 

"Why, Mr. Tibbetts, " he said, "this is a great surprise. "

"Yes, " said Bones, "I suppose it is, old Mr. De Vinne. " And he coughedsolemnly, as one who was the guardian of a great secret. 

"Come in, " said Mr. De Vinne, more genial than ever. "This is mylittle den"--indicating a den which the most fastidious of lions wouldnot have despised. "Sit down and have a cigar, old man. Now, whatbrings you here to-night?"

"The shares, " said Bones soberly. "I've been worrying about theshares. "

"Ah, yes, " said Mr. De Vinne carelessly. "Why worry about them, dearboy?"

"Well, I thought I might lose the opportunity of buying them. I thinkthere's something to be made out of that property. In fact, " saidBones emphatically, "I'm pretty certain I could make a lot of money ifI had control. "

"I agree with you, " said the earnest Mr. De Vinne. 

"Now the point is, " said Bones, "I've been studying that list of yours, and it seems to me that the majority of the two hundred and fiftythousand shares issued are either held by you or by one of thePoles--jolly old Joe or jolly old Fred, I don't know which. "

"Jolly old Fred, " said Mr. De Vinne gravely. 

"Now, if there's one person I don't want to meet to-night, orto-morrow, or any other day, " said Bones, "it's Pole. "

"There's no need for you to meet him, " smiled de Vinne. 

"In fact, " said Bones, with sudden ferocity, "I absolutely refuse tobuy any shares from Fred. I'll buy yours, but I will not buy a singleone from Fred. "

Mr. De Vinne thought rapidly. 

"There's really no reason, " he said carelessly. "As a matter of fact, I took over Fred's shares to-night, or the majority of them. I can letyou have--let me see"--he made a rapid calculation--"I can let you havea hundred and eighty thousand shares at nineteen and nine. "

"Eighteen shillings, " said Bones firmly, "and not a penny more. "

They wrangled about the price for five minutes, and then, in anoutburst of generosity, Mr. De Vinne agreed. 

"Eighteen shillings it shall be. You're a hard devil, " he said. "Now, shall we settle this in the morning?"

"Settle it now, " said Bones. "I've a contract note and a cheque book. "

De Vinne thought a moment. 

"Why, sure!" he said. "Let's have your note. "

Bones took a note from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on thetable, then solemnly seated himself at Mr. De Vinne's desk and wroteout the cheque. 

His good fortune was more than Mr. De Vinne could believe. He hadexpected Bones to be easy, but not so easy as this. 

"Good-bye, " said Bones. He was solemn, even funereal. 

"And, my friend, " thought Mr. De Vinne, "you'll be even more solemnbefore the month's out. "

He saw Bones to the door, slapped him on the back, insisted on histaking another cigar, and stood outside on the pavement of CadoganSquare and watched the rear lights of Bones's car pass out of sight. Then he went back to his study telephone and gave a number. It was thenumber of Mr. Fred Pole's house, and Fred Pole himself answered thecall. 

"Is that you, Pole?"

"That's me, " said the other, and there was joy in his voice. 

"I say, Pole, " chuckled de Vinne, "I shall save you a lot of trouble. "

"What do you mean?" asked the other. 

"I've sold Bones my shares and yours too. "

There was a deep silence. 

"Did you hear me?" asked de Vinne. 

"Yes, I heard you, " said the voice, so strange that de Vinne scarcelyrecognised it. "How many did you sell?" asked Pole. 

"A hundred and eighty thousand. I thought I could easily fix it withyou. "

Another silence. 

"What did Bones say to you?"

"He told me he wouldn't do any more business with you. "

"Good Heavens!" groaned Pole, and added, "Gracious Heavens!"

"Why, what's the matter?" asked de Vinne quickly, scenting danger. 

"That's what he said to me, " moaned the other. "Just hang on. I'll beround in a quarter of an hour. "

Mr. Fred Pole arrived under that time, and had a dreadful story tounfold. At nine o'clock that evening Bones had called upon him and hadoffered to buy his shares. But Bones had said he would not under anycircumstances----

"Buy my shares?" said de Vinne quickly. 

"Well, he didn't exactly say that, " said Fred. "But he gave me tounderstand that he'd rather buy the shares from me than from anybodyelse, and I thought it was such an excellent idea, and I could fix itup with you on the telephone, so I sold him----"

"How many?" wailed de Vinne. 

"A hundred and fifty thousand, " said Mr. Fred, and the two men staredat one another. 

De Vinne licked his dry lips. 

"It comes to this, " he said. "Between us we've sold him three hundredand thirty thousand shares. There are only two hundred and fiftythousand shares issued, so we've got to deliver eighty thousand sharesthat are non-existent or be posted as defaulters. "

Another long pause, and then both men said simultaneously, as thoughthe thought had struck them for the first time:

"Why, the fellow's a rogue!"

The next morning they called upon Bones, and they were with him forhalf an hour; and when they went, they left behind them, not only thecheques that Bones had given them, but another cheque for a mostsubstantial amount as consideration. 

That night Bones gave a wonderful dinner-party at the most expensivehotel in London. Sanders was there, and Patricia Sanders, andHamilton, and a certain Vera, whom the bold Bones called by herChristian name, but the prettiest of the girls was she who sat on hisright and listened to the delivery of Bones's great speech in fear andtrembling. 

"The toast of the evening, dear old friends, " said Bones, "is Cupidityand Cupid. Coupled with the names of the Honourable de Vinne and myyoung and lovely typewriter--my friend and companion in storm andstress, the only jolly old lady, if I may be allowed to say so, thathas stirred my young heart"--he caught Patricia Sanders's accusing eye, coughed, and added--"in Europe!"

THE END

_WARD, LOCK & CO. 'S NEW FICTION_

High Street

By

Charman Edwards

When one reads this amazing study of Daven Judd, who although he isdescribed as "lover, idealist and sometime fugitive from justice, "comes at last to strange and beautiful happiness, it is difficult tobelieve that an author could have evolved such a book out of his owninventive faculties. One feels rather that Mr. Edwards has dared toreveal the emotions of creatures who are actual flesh and blood;emotions at times strange and terrible, frail and beautiful at others, yet ever tinged with human appeal. Mr. Edwards has never writtenanything like HIGH STREET before. Readers will be held fascinated tothe last page; then, because of that rare and indefinable quality ofstartling truth which pervades it, they will take it up again. 

_By the same Author:_

 Windfellow. Derision Rainbrother

_Press Opinion of "Windfellow":_

"Mr. Edwards can not only tell a good tale as it should be told, but hehas the right gipsy magic, and the great fight which comes towards theend of the story is almost, if not quite, as fine as the epic contestbetween Lavengro and the Flaming Tinker. "--Referee. 

 * * * * *

The Rat Trap

By

William Le Queux

When Frank Aylmer first meets the Quentins at an Ostend Hotel he is atonce attracted to the beautiful Mrs. Quentin, and finds himselfinvolved in adventure as soon as that lady confesses she is not reallythe wife of Quentin, but only posing as such for some "mysterious"purpose. The unravelling of the threads of mystery surrounding theelusive lady and her supposed husband provides the reader with one ofthe most engrossing stories that Mr. W. Le Queux ever wrote. 

_Other Stories by this Author include:_

 The Marked Man Three Knots A Woman's Debt The Young Archduchess The Sign of the Stranger No. 7 Saville Square The Little Blue Goddess The Lady-in-Waiting As We Forgive Them Scribes and Pharisees The Day of Temptation The Bronze Face An Eye for an Eye Sins of the City Guilty Bonds The Court of Honour The Idol of the Town The Broken Thread If Sinners Entice Thee The Bond of Black In White Raiment The Valrose Mystery The Lure of Love The Scarlet Sign The Mysterious Three The Black Owl No Greater Love The House of Evil The Hotel X

"Mr. Le Queux is the master of mystery. He never fails to produce thecorrect illusion. He always leaves us panting for more--a brilliantfeat. "--_Daily Graphic_. 

 * * * * *

Nancy Trevanion's Legacy

By

Joseph Hocking

Upon Trevanion's death the old home had to be sold, but Nancy, his onlydaughter, insisted upon the sale being subject to an option enablingher to buy it back within five years for £10, 000. She might haveaccomplished her end there and then had she been willing to marry theson of her father's one-time stableman, but being a Trevanion ofTrevanion Court she was even prouder than she was poor. How sheobtained the necessary money, and what surprising adventures befell herbefore she could achieve her aim, is told in Mr. Joseph Hocking's bestvein in this vivid and realistic story. 

There are few better story-tellers than Mr. Joseph Hocking, especiallywhen he is dealing with his beloved Cornwall. His stories arethrillingly interesting, and rivet the attention of the reader frombeginning to end. 

 * * * * *

The Firm Hand

By

Harold Bindloss

The Croziers are stubborn North-country yeomen, whose temperamentaccounts for the misfortunes that follow the house. Isaac, the last ofthe old parsimonious school, pushed on by his avaricious wife, cheatshis brother and seizes the inheritance of his nephew, who issupposititiously killed by accident in the dark. Mark, another nephew, and the girl he marries, stand for a fresh and generous type, but hehas inherited the family temperament and feels his business is to solvethe puzzle of his brother's death. The background for the story isEnglish moorland and Canadian forest. 

_Other recent Stories by this Author:_

 The Mountaineers The League of the Leopard The Man from the Wilds The Allinson Honour The Impostor The Pioneer Musgrave's Luck Hawtrey's Deputy The Head of the House The Keystone Block Dearham's Inheritance The Wilderness Patrol The Trustee The Lute Player Agatha's Fortune A Debt of Honour The Broken Net A Risky Game Askew's Victory Carmen's Messenger The Dust of Conflict Sadie's Conquest A Damaged Reputation Helen the Conqueror Footsteps Sour Grapes

"Mr. Bindloss's novels come as a welcome periodical sedative after adose of the feverish volubility indulged in by some modernnovelists. "--_The Times_. 

 * * * * *

Captain Lucifer

By

Ben Bolt

Young Sir Harry Plaxton, a blood in the times of the highwaymen, ridingto take up his inheritance, had a fancy to enter his house on ChristmasDay. How he did so, and what adventures met him by the way, how hecame upon a country inn of unsavoury reputation and was scrutinized bya rogue and what followed, how he rescued a maid and fought with anotorious pirate, and how the Golden Peacock was found and afterwardlost again--all this makes a book of romance and adventure such as evenMr. Ben Bolt has not given us before. 

_By the same Author:_

 The Mystery of Belvoir Mansions The Sword of Fortune

This story reveals the author as a master of the breathless pace whichwhirls a reader along whether he will or not. 

 * * * * *

Courage of the Outcast

By

W. H. Slater

How would you feel after escaping from prison upon the morning fixedfor your execution? Which would predominate--thankfulness for theescape, or the paralysing terror of recapture? The issue is ofnecessity dramatic and full of movement, and Mr. Slater has made theutmost of the opportunities inherent in such a vivid opening, and theresult is a novel as convincing as it is exciting. The end is thatfree pardon which our authorities give for a crime that has never beencommitted. We could not read COURAGE OF THE OUTCAST otherwise. It isall so real. 

The Author can write a rattling good yarn, full of excitement and realmystery. Thoroughly brisk in action, the story is told in a virile andspirited manner. 

 * * * * *

Lights and Shadows

By

Effie Adelaide Rowlands

When the wealthy Miss Martingate died she left her money away from thefamily and to her servant Hester Slayde. Michael alone of the familyshowed himself kindly disposed, and Hester's path was by no means oneof roses. Then, close upon her good fortune, arrived the letter fromElizabeth Charlbury to the dead woman, asking for help. How the helpwas not denied her by Hester Slayde, and what gratitude, oringratitude, was returned for it, and what byways were entered by thosechiefly concerned, is told by Miss Rowlands with all her accustomedskill in telling a romance. 

_Other popular Stories by this Author:_

 The Rose of Life The Game of Life Carlton's Wife A Dangerous Woman They Laugh that Win The Flame of Love In Love's Land Young Hearts A Girl with a Heart Through Weal and Through Woe Love's Young Dream Out of a Clear Sky Money or Wife? Brave Love Sunset and Dawn The Man from the West The Man she Loved

"Miss Rowlands has the reputation of producing extremely readablewholesome novels. "--_The Aberdeen Journal_. 

 * * * * *

Castle Perilous

By

Katharine Tynan

Maurice, still suffering from the effects of a serious wound receivedin the trenches, was completely dominated by his old schoolmistress, who had gone out to nurse him, and the struggle between her fiercematernal hunger to hold him at her side and his desire for freedom fromher obsessing influence, makes a story of singular strength andinterest, with an unusual climax of dramatic intensity. Side by sidewith this more sombre theme there runs a beautiful romance, and MissKatharine Tynan is seen at her best in the drawing of a lovable girl. 

_Other popular Stories by this Author:_

 Princess Katharine Dear Lady Bountiful My Love's but a Lassie The Briar Bush Maid The House on the Bogs The Heiress of Wyke Pat the Adventurer The Wild Adventure Miss Phipps The Face in the Picture

"Clean wholesome love stories, free from intrigue and sensationalism, and containing well-drawn characters and good dialogue. "

 * * * * *

That Fool Peter

By

Ashley Milner

Peter Hawkins, a clerk with ideals, has a youthful escapade with aworkgirl named Evie Wills. But remorse dogs him ever afterwards, andwhen, while he is leading an unhappy married life, he has the suddenopportunity of saving Evie from moral disaster, he rises to the heightof his chance and fulfils his ideals. But he is misunderstood by hiswife, who sues him for a divorce but fails to bring conclusiveevidence. The book ends happily, and throughout its course is a finepicture of a rather humdrum soul seeking--and reaching--the heights ofopportunity and spiritual victory. 

_By the same Author:_

 And then Comes Love Dawn Breaking Red

"Mr. Milner tells a story well, with a vividness of incident, and hehas a nice sense of humour. "--_Northern Whig_. 

 * * * * *

The Money Barons

By

John Haslette Vahey

Dexter's ranch was wanted by Kelly who had projected a railway throughit, but Dexter had reasons for believing Kelly had tried to murder him. A plausible rascal, Page, pressed his services upon Dexter, to exposeKelly, but Page was employed by a greater rascal called Bull, who had awhole staff of gunmen upon his pay roll. From then onwards the storymoves as swiftly and unerringly as the most hardened reader coulddesire, and what Dexter found on his ranch and how he married a maid inthe enemy's camp must be left to Mr. Vahey to tell. 

_By the same Author:_

 Fiddlestrings Down River Up North The Storm Lady Payment Down

"Well told, with a quietly effective undercurrent of excitement. "--_TheTimes_. 

 * * * * *

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