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 maid called "Madame," and who opened several letters addressed to "Mrs.

Sanders," but who in days not long past had been known as Patricia

Hamilton.

"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 the

Company 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 magnifficantnew 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, and

Bones now prepared to depart; but Mr. Lew Becksteine, from whose hands

Bones had taken, not only the direction of the play, but the very excuse 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.