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," interrupted

Hamilton.

"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 the

Government 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 puzzled

Hamilton.

"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.