Part One

In which the Little Nugget is to the reader, and plans are for his by parties. In which, also, the Mr Peter Burns is touched upon. The whole with a telephone-call.

THE LITTLE NUGGET

I

If the management of the Hotel Guelph, that London landmark, have been present at three o'clock one in early January in the sitting-room of the which they had to Mrs Elmer Ford, late of New York, they might well have a little aggrieved. Philosophers among them would possibly have on the of effort; for they had done their best for Mrs Ford. They had her well. They had her well. They had to her every need. Yet here she was, in the of all these to a mind, a and of her that would have been in a or a of the Bastille. She the room. She sat down, up a novel, it, and, rising, her patrol. The clock striking, she it with her watch, which she had two minutes before. She opened the that by a gold from her neck, looked at its contents, and sighed. Finally, going into the bedroom, she took from a suit-case a oil-painting, and returning with it to the sitting-room, it on a chair, and back, at it hungrily. Her large eyes, hard and imperious, were softened. Her mouth quivered.

'Ogden!' she whispered.

The picture which had this of would not have the to the same degree. He would have a very and portrait of a little boy of about eleven, who out from the with an stolid, querulous; a bulgy, little boy; a little boy who looked what he was, the child of who had more money than was good for them.

As Mrs Ford at the picture, and the picture at her, the telephone rang. She ran to it eagerly. It was the office of the hotel, announcing a caller.

'Yes? Yes? Who?' Her voice fell, as if the name was not the one she had expected. 'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Yes, ask Lord Mountry to come to me here, please.'

She returned to the portrait. The look of impatience, which had left her as the sounded, was now. She it with an as her visitor entered.

Lord Mountry was a blond, pink-faced, fair-moustached man of about twenty-eight—a thick-set, man. He as he of the picture, which him with a on his entry, and looked away.

'I say, it's all right, Mrs Ford.' He was of the type which no time on greetings. 'I've got him.'

'Got him!'

Mrs Ford's voice was startled.

'Stanborough, you know.'

'Oh! I—I was of something else. Won't you down?'

Lord Mountry sat down.

'The artist, you know. You you said at the other day you wanted your little boy's portrait painted, as you only had one of him, eleven—'

'This is Ogden, Lord Mountry. I painted this myself.'

His lordship, who had a chair that him to present a to the painting, and was a look of one who 'turns no more his head, he a close him tread', himself round, and met his with as much as he up.

'Er, yes,' he said.

He paused.

'Fine little fellow—what?' he continued.

'Yes, isn't he?'

His his position.

'I this fellow, Stanborough, if you remember. He's a great of mine, and I'd like to give him a leg up if I could. They tell me he's a artist. Don't know much about it myself. You told me to him here this afternoon, you remember, to talk over. He's waiting downstairs.'

'Oh yes, yes. Of course, I've not forgotten. Thank you so much,

Lord Mountry.'

'Rather a good to me, that is, if you haven't over the idea of that on my and it would you to death. You still like making one of the party—what?'

Mrs Ford a at the clock.

'I'm looking to it,' she said.

'Well, then, why shouldn't we kill two with one stone?

Combine the and the portrait, don't you know. You could

bring your little boy along—he'd love the trip—and I'd bring

Stanborough—what?'

This offer was not the outcome of a of warm-heartedness on his lordship's part. He had the deeply, and had come to the that, though it had flaws, it was the best plan. He was alive to the that a small boy was not an to the success of a trip, and, since Ogden's portrait, he had still more that the had draw-backs. But he wanted Stanborough to make one of the party. Whatever Ogden might be, there was no that Billy Stanborough, that of jest, was the for a voyage. It would make just all the having him. The trouble was that Stanborough to take an holiday, on the that he not the time. Upon which his lordship, with great ideas, had himself by producing the he had just sketched out to Mrs Ford.

He looked at her expectantly, as he speaking, and was to see a cloud of pass over her face. He his last speech. No, nothing to anyone in that. He was puzzled.

She looked past him at the portrait. There was pain in her eyes.

'I'm you don't the position of affairs,' she said. Her voice was and strained.

'Eh?'

'You see—I have not—' She stopped. 'My little boy is not—Ogden is not with me just now.'

'At school, eh?'

'No, not at school. Let me tell you the whole position. Mr Ford and I did not on very well together, and a year ago we were in Washington, on the ground of incompatibility, and—and—'

She choked. His lordship, a man with a of the emotions, in woman or man, silently. That was the of these Americans! Always and unpleasantness. How was a to know? Why hadn't it was who them—he couldn't who the it was—told him about this? He had she was just the ordinary American woman doing Europe with an dollar-dispensing husband in the somewhere.

'Er—' he said. It was all he to say.

'And—and the court,' said Mrs Ford, her teeth, 'gave him the of Ogden.'

Lord Mountry, pink with embarrassment, sympathetically.

'Since then I have not Ogden. That was why I was when you mentioned your friend Mr Stanborough. It me that Mr Ford object to my having a portrait of my son painted at my own expense. Nor do I that he will, when—if the is put to him. But, well, you see it would be to make any at present for having the picture painted on our trip.'

'I'm it that on the head,' said Lord Mountry mournfully.

'Not necessarily.'

'Eh?'

'I don't want to make plans yet, but—it is possible that Ogden may be with us after all. Something may be—arranged.'

'You think you may be able to him along on the after all?'

'I am so.'

Lord Mountry, to gurgles, was too plain and a man to approve of to facts.

'I don't see how you are going to the of the court. It good in England, I suppose?'

'I am something may be—arranged.'

'Oh, same here, same here. Certainly.' Having done his by not plain to be ignored, his was to again. 'By the way, where is Ogden?'

'He is at Mr Ford's house in the country. But—'

She was by the of the telephone bell. She was out of her seat and across the room at the with what appeared to Lord Mountry's one bound. As she put the to her ear a of over her face. She gave a little of and excitement.

'Send them right up at once,' she said, and to Lord Mountry transformed.

'Lord Mountry,' she said quickly, 'please don't think me if I turn you out. Some—some people are to see me. I must—'

His rose hurriedly.

'Of course. Of course. Certainly. Where did I put my—ah, here.' He his hat, and by way of effort, his on to the with the same movement. Mrs Ford his and with impatience, till he rose, a little but with a full hand—stick, gloves, and hat, all present and correct.

'Good-bye, then, Mrs Ford, for the present. You'll let me know if your little boy will be able to make one of our party on the yacht?'

'Yes, yes. Thank you so much. Good-bye.'

'Good-bye.'

He the door and opened it.

'By Jove,' he said, round—'Stanborough! What about

Stanborough? Shall I tell him to wait? He's below, you know!'

'Yes, yes. Tell Mr Stanborough I'm sorry to have to keep him waiting, and ask him if he won't for a minutes in the Palm Room.'

Inspiration came to Lord Mountry.

'I'll give him a drink,' he said.

'Yes, yes, anything. Lord Mountry, you must go. I know I'm rude. I don't know what I'm saying. But—my boy is returning to me.'

The of of like a on his lordship. He but dimly, yet to him to that a was about to take place in which he was most not 'on'. A mother's meeting with her long-lost child, this is a thing. This was clear to him, so, like a flash, he through the doorway, and, as somebody to be in at the same time, there was a collision, which left him in his familiar of to up his hat.

The new-comers were a tall, girl, with a hard and of countenance. She was leading by the hand a small, boy of about fourteen years of age, to the portrait on the chair his identity. He had the collision, but by it; for, the with cold distaste, he up his opinion of him in the one word 'Chump!'

Lord Mountry rose.

'I your pardon,' he said for the seventh time. He was unstrung. Always shy, he was embarrassed now by a of causes. The world was full of eyes—Mrs Ford's saying 'Go!' Ogden's saying 'Fool!' the portrait saying 'Idiot!' and, finally, the of this girl, large, grey, cool, amused, and saying—so it to him in that moment—'Who is this pink person who the ground me?'

'I—I your pardon.' he repeated.

'Ought to look where you're going,' said Ogden severely.

'Not at all,' said the girl. 'Won't you me, Nesta?'

'Lord Mountry—Miss Drassilis,' said Mrs Ford.

'I'm we're Lord Mountry away,' said the girl. Her to his larger, greyer, cooler, more amused, and more than ever. He in them like an in waters.

'No, no,' he stammered. 'Give you my word. Just going. Good-bye.

You won't to let me know about the yacht, Mrs Ford—what?

It'll be an party. Good-bye, good-bye, Miss

Drassilis.'

He looked at Ogden for an instant, as if to take the of him too, and then, his him, and bolted. From the came the of a stick.

Cynthia Drassilis closed the door and smiled.

'A person!' she said. 'What was he saying about a yacht, Nesta?'

Mrs Ford herself from her of

Ogden.

'Oh, nothing. Some of us are going to the south of France in his next week.'

'What a idea!'

There was a note in Cynthia's voice.

'A idea!' she murmured.

Mrs Ford swooped. She on Ogden in a and of millinery, and him to her.

'My boy!'

It is not to to into a of emotion. Ogden failed to do so. He from the embrace.

'Got a cigarette?' he said.

He was an little boy. Physically the portrait on the chair did him more than justice. Painted by a mother's hand, it him. It was bulgy. He was more bulgy. It was sullen. He scowled. And, art having its limitations, particularly art, the portrait gave no hint of his very manner. He was an child. He had the air of one who has all life has to offer, and is now bored. His speech and were those of a man, and a man.

Even Mrs Ford was chilled. She laughed shakily.

'How very matter-of-fact you are, darling!' she said.

Cynthia was the to the Ford millions with her steady, half-contemptuous gaze.

'He has been that all day,' she said. 'You have no what a help it was to me.'

Mrs Ford to her effusively.

'Oh, Cynthia, dear, I haven't thanked you.'

'No,' the girl dryly.

'You're a wonder, darling. You are. I've been that since I got your from Eastnor.' She off. 'Ogden, come near me, my little son.'

He her sullenly.

'Don't a now,' he stipulated, himself to be in the arms.

'Tell me, Cynthia,' Mrs Ford, 'how did you do it? I was telling Lord Mountry that I I might see my Ogden again soon, but I hoped. It too that you should succeed.'

'This Lord Mountry of yours,' said Cynthia. 'How did you to know him? Why have I not him before?'

'I met him in Paris in the fall. He has been out of London for a long time, looking after his father, who was ill.'

'I see.'

'He has been most kind, making about Ogden's portrait painted. But, Lord Mountry. How did we on to him? Tell me how you got Ogden away.'

Cynthia yawned.

'It was easy, as it out, you see.'

'Ogden, darling,' Mrs Ford, 'don't go away. I want you near me.'

'Oh, all right.'

'Then by me, angel-face.'

'Oh, slush!' angel-face his breath. 'Say, I'm hungry,' he added.

It was if an electric had been to Mrs Ford. She to her feet.

'My child! Of you must have some lunch. Ring the bell,

Cynthia. I'll have them send up some here.'

'I'll have mine here,' said Cynthia.

'Oh, you've had no either! I was that.'

'I you were.'

'You must here.'

'Really,' said Cynthia, 'I think it would be if Ogden had his in the restaurant.'

'Want to talk scandal, eh?'

'Ogden, dearest!' said Mrs Ford. 'Very well, Cynthia. Go,

Ogden. You will order something substantial, marvel-child?'

'Bet your life,' said the son and tersely.

There was a as the door closed. Cynthia at her friend with a expression.

'Well, I did it, dear,' she said.

'Yes. It's splendid. You're a wonder, darling.'

'Yes,' said Cynthia.

There was another silence.

'By the way,' said Mrs Ford, 'didn't you say there was a little thing, a small bill, that was you?'

'Did I mention it? Yes, there is. It's pressing. In fact, it's taking up most of the at present. Here it is.'

'Is it a large sum?' Mrs Ford took the of paper and gave a gasp. Then, to the bureau, she took out her cheque-book.

'It's very of you, Nesta,' said Cynthia. 'They were to a about it.'

She the cheque and put it in her purse.

'And now tell me how you did it,' said Mrs Ford.

She into a chair and back, her hands her head. For the time, she to perfect peace of mind. Her closed, as if she had been making to to some music.

'Tell me from the very beginning,' she said softly.

Cynthia a yawn.

'Very well, dear,' she said. 'I the 10.20 to Eastnor, which isn't a train, if you want to go there. I at a past twelve, and up to the house—you've the house, of course? It's charming—and told the that I wanted to see Mr Ford on business. I had taken the to out that he was not there. He is at Droitwich.'

'Rheumatism,' Mrs Ford. 'He has it sometimes.'

'The man told me he was away, and then he to think that I ought to go. I like a limpet. I sent him to Ogden's tutor. His name is Broster—Reggie Broster. He is a very man. Big, shoulders, and such a face.'

'Yes, dear, yes?'

'I told him I was doing a series of for a magazine of the of well-known country houses.'

'He you?'

'He everything. He's that of man. He me when I told him that my particularly wanted me to sketch the staircase. They had told me about the at the inn. I what it is exactly, but it's something special in staircases.'

'So you got in?'

'So I got in.'

'And saw Ogden?'

'Only for a moment—then Reggie—'

'Who?'

'Mr Broster. I always think of him as Reggie. He's one of Nature's

Reggies. Such a kind, face. Well, as I was saying,

Reggie that it was time for lessons, and sent Ogden

upstairs.'

'By himself?'

'By himself! Reggie and I for a while.'

Mrs Ford's opened, and and hard.

'Mr Broster is not a proper for my boy,' she said coldly.

'I it was of Reggie,' said Cynthia. 'But—I was this hat.'

'Go on.'

'Well, after a time, I said I must be starting my work. He wanted me to start with the room we were in. I said no, I was going out into the to sketch the house from the EAST. I the EAST it to be nearest the railway station. I added that I he sometimes took Ogden for a little walk in the grounds. He said yes, he did, and it was just about due. He said possibly he might come my way. He said Ogden would be in my sketch. He to think a of Ogden's for art.'

'Mr Broster is not a proper for my boy.'

'Well, he isn't your boy's now, is he, dear?'

'What then?'

'I off with my sketching things. After a while Reggie and Ogden came up. I said I hadn't been able to work I had been by a bull.'

'Did he that?'

'Certainly he it. He was most and sympathetic. We had a chat. He told me all about himself. He used to be very good at football. He doesn't play now, but he often thinks of the past.'

'But he must have that you couldn't sketch. Then what of your magazine story?'

'Well, somehow the sketch to shelved. I didn't have to start it. We were having our chat, you see. Reggie was telling me how good he had been at football when he was at Oxford, and he wanted me to see a newspaper of a Varsity match he had played in. I said I'd love to see it. He said it was in his suit-case in the house. So I promised to look after Ogden while he it. I sent him off to it just in time for us to catch the train. Off he went, and here we are. And now, won't you order that you mentioned? I'm starving.'

Mrs Ford rose. Half-way to the telephone she stopped suddenly.

'My dear child! It has only just me! We must here at once. He will have you. He will that Ogden has been kidnapped.'

Cynthia smiled.

'Believe me, it takes Reggie a long time to anything.

Besides, there are no for hours. We are safe.'

'Are you sure?'

'Absolutely. I of that I left.'

Mrs Ford her impulsively.

'Oh, Cynthia, you are wonderful!'

She started with a as the sharply.

'For goodness' sake, Nesta,' said Cynthia, with irritation, 'do keep of yourself. There's nothing to be about. I tell you Mr Broster can't possibly have got here in the time, if he where to go to, which I don't see how he could. It's Ogden.'

The colour came into Mrs Ford's cheeks.

'Why, of course.'

Cynthia opened the door.

'Come in, darling,' said Mrs Ford fondly. And a little man with and entered.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Ford,' he said. 'I have come to take Ogden back.'

II

There are some in life so unexpected, so trying, that, as as our opinion of those to them, we agree, as it were, not to count them; we to allow the victim's in so to with us in our of his or her character. We permit the great general, with a bull, to turn and run, without his for courage. The who, on a in winter, passers-by with rag-time steps, none of his once the performance is concluded.

In the same way we must the of Cynthia Drassilis on opening the door of Mrs Ford's sitting-room and admitting, not Ogden, but this total stranger, who his entry with the speech recorded at the close of the last section.

She was a girl who herself on her blase' and life; but this was too much for her. She the handle, back, and, having a of amazement, staring, and mouth wide open.

On Mrs Ford the had a different effect. The of welcome from her as if away with a sponge. Her eyes, and like those of a animal, at the intruder. She took a step forward, choking.

'What—what do you by to enter my room?' she cried.

The man his ground, unmoved. His was a of and aggressiveness. He was determined, but apologetic. A of the Middle Ages, to do his job loyally, yet of to his victim, might have looked the same.

'I am sorry,' he said, 'but I must ask you to let me have the boy,

Mrs Ford.'

Cynthia was herself again now. She the with the which had so Lord Mountry.

'Who is this gentleman?' she asked languidly.

The was of than his lordship. He met her with firmness.

'My name is Mennick,' he said. 'I am Mr Elmer Ford's private secretary.'

'What do you want?' said Mrs Ford.

'I have already what I want, Mrs Ford. I want Ogden.'

Cynthia her eyebrows.

'What he mean, Nesta? Ogden is not here.'

Mr Mennick produced from his breast-pocket a form, and in his quiet, business-like way to it out.

'I have here,' he said, 'a from Mr Broster, Ogden's tutor. It was one of the of his that if he was not of Ogden's he should let me know at once. He tells me that early this he left Ogden in the company of a lady'—Mr Mennick's for a moment at Cynthia—'and that, when he returned, of them had disappeared. He and that this lady the 1.15 to London, Ogden with her. On receipt of this I at once to Mr Ford for instructions. I have his reply'—he for and produced a second telegram—'here.'

'I still fail to see what you here,' said Mrs Ford. 'Owing to the of his father's employees, my son to have been kidnapped. That is no reason—'

'I will read Mr Ford's telegram,' Mr Mennick unmoved. 'It is long. I think Mr Ford is annoyed. "The boy has been by some of his mother's." I am reading Mr Ford's words,' he said, Cynthia with that touch of which had marked his manner since his entrance.

'Don't apologize,' said Cynthia, with a laugh. 'You're not for Mr Ford's rudeness.'

Mr Mennick bowed.

'He continued: "Remove him from her illegal restraint. If necessary call in police and force."'

'Charming!' said Mrs Ford.

'Practical,' said Mr Mennick. 'There is more. "Before doing anything else that of a tutor, then go to Agency and have them good private for boy. On no account another tutor. They make me tired. Fix all this today. Send Ogden to Eastnor with Mrs Sheridan. She will there with him till notice." That is Mr Ford's message.'

Mr Mennick documents and replaced them in his pocket.

Mrs Ford looked at the clock.

'And now, would you mind going, Mr Mennick?'

'I am sorry to appear discourteous, Mrs Ford, but I cannot go without Ogden.'

'I shall telephone to the office to send up a to remove you.'

'I shall take of his presence to ask him to a policeman.'

In the of the of was to wear off Mr Mennick. He spoke irritably. Cynthia to his with the air of a to with a groom.

'Can't you see for that he's not here?' she said. 'Do you think we are him?'

'Perhaps you would like to search my bedroom?' said Mrs Ford, the door open.

Mr Mennick uncrushed.

'Quite unnecessary, Mrs Ford. I take it, from the that he not appear to be in this suite, that he is making a late in the restaurant.'

'I shall telephone—'

'And tell them to send him up. Believe me, Mrs Ford, it is the only thing to do. You have my sympathy, but I am by Mr Ford and must act in his interests. The law is on my side. I am here to Ogden away, and I am going to have him.'

'You shan't!'

'I may add that, when I came up here, I left Mrs Sheridan—she is a fellow-secretary of mine. You may Mr Ford her in his telegram—I left her to search the restaurant and grill-room, with to Ogden, if found, to me in this room.'

The door-bell rang. He to the door and opened it.

'Come in, Mrs Sheridan. Ah!'

A girl in a plain, dress entered the room. She was a small, girl of about twenty-five, and brisk, with the air of one to look after herself in a difficult world. Her were clear and steady, her mouth but firm, her the of one who has met trouble and it bravely. A little soldier.

She was Ogden her, a but still sullen

Ogden. He Mr Mennick and stopped.

'Hello!' he said. 'What have you in for?'

'He was just in the middle of his lunch,' said the girl. 'I you wouldn't mind if I let him finish.'

'Say, what's it all about, anyway?' Ogden crossly. 'Can't a have a of in peace? You give me a pain.'

Mr Mennick explained.

'Your father you to return to Eastnor, Ogden.'

'Oh, all right. I I'd go, then. Good-bye, ma.'

Mrs Ford choked.

'Kiss me, Ogden.'

Ogden submitted to the in silence. The others themselves each after his or her own fashion. Mr Mennick his uncomfortably. Cynthia to the table and up an paper. Mrs Sheridan's with tears. She took a half-step Mrs Ford, as if about to speak, then back.

'Come, Ogden,' said Mr Mennick gruffly. Necessary, this Hired Assassin work, but painful—devilish painful. He a of as he passed into the with his prize.

At the door Mrs Sheridan hesitated, stopped, and turned.

'I'm sorry,' she said impulsively.

Mrs Ford away without speaking, and into the bedroom.

Cynthia her paper.

'One moment, Mrs Sheridan.'

The girl had to go. She stopped.

'Can you give me a minute? Come in and the door. Won't you down? Very well. You sorry for Mrs Ford just now.'

'I am very sorry for Mrs Ford. Very sorry. I to see her suffering. I wish Mr Mennick had not me into this.'

'Nesta's about that boy,' said Cynthia. 'Heaven why. I saw such a child in my life. However, there it is. I am sorry for you. I from what Mr Mennick said that you were to have a good of Ogden's for some time to come. How do you about it?'

Mrs Sheridan moved the door.

'I must be going,' she said. 'Mr Mennick will be waiting for me.'

'One moment. Tell me, don't you think, after what you saw just now, that Mrs Ford is the proper person to have of Ogden? You see how she is to him?'

'May I be with you?'

'Please.'

'Well, then, I think that Mrs Ford's is the possible for Ogden. I am sorry for her, but that not my opinion. It is to Mrs Ford that Ogden is what he is. She him, him in every way, him—till he has become—well, what you called him, repulsive.'

Cynthia laughed.

'Oh well,' she said, 'I only talked that mother's love you looked the of girl who would like it. We can all that now, and come to business.'

'I don't you.'

'You will. I don't know if you think that I Ogden from for Mrs Ford. I like Nesta, but not as much as that. No. I'm one of the Get-Rich-Quick-Wallingfords, and I'm looking out for myself all the time. There's no one else to do it for me. I've a home. My father's dead. My mother's a cat. So—'

'Please stop,' said Mrs Sheridan. I don't know why you are telling me all this.'

'Yes, you do. I don't know what salary Mr Ford pays you, but I don't it's anything princely. Why don't you come over to us? Mrs Ford would give you the earth if you Ogden to her.'

'You to be trying to me,' said Mrs Sheridan.

'In this case,' said Cynthia, 'appearances aren't deceptive. I am.'

'Good afternoon.'

'Don't be a little fool.'

The door slammed.

'Come back!' Cynthia. She took a step as if to follow, but gave up the idea with a laugh. She sat and to read her paper again. Presently the door opened. Mrs Ford came in. She touched her with a as she entered. Cynthia looked up.

'I'm very sorry, Nesta,' she said.

Mrs Ford to the window and looked out.

'I'm not going to down, if that's what you mean,' she said.

'I don't care. And, anyhow, it that it can be done.'

Cynthia a page of her paper.

'I've just been trying my hand at and corruption.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, I promised and many in your name to that person, the female one—not Mennick—if she would help us. Nothing doing. I told her to let us have Ogden as soon as possible, C.O.D., and she me with a and went.'

Mrs Ford her impatiently.

'Oh, let her go. I'm of amateurs.'

'Thank you, dear,' said Cynthia.

'Oh, I know you did your best. For an you did well. But succeed. There were a dozen little easy which we neglected to take. What we want is a professional; a man is kidnapping; the of man who as a of course; someone like Smooth Sam Fisher.'

'My dear Nesta! Who? I don't think I know the gentleman.'

'He to Ogden in 1906, when we were in New York. At least, the police put it to him, though they prove nothing. Then there was a man, the police said he was called Buck MacGinnis. He in 1907. That was in Chicago.'

'Good gracious! Kidnapping Ogden to be as popular as football. And I I was a pioneer!'

Something came into Mrs Ford's voice.

'I don't there's a child in America,' she said, 'who has had to be so guarded. Why, the had a special name for him—they called him "The Little Nugget". For years we allowed him out of our without a to watch him.'

'Well, Mr Ford to have all that now. I saw no detectives. I he thinks they aren't necessary in England. Or he on Mr Broster. Poor Reggie!'

'It was careless of him. This will be a lesson to him. He will be more in how he Ogden at the of who to come along and him up.'

'Which, incidentally, not make your of him away any lighter.'

'Oh, I've up now,' said Mrs Ford resignedly.

'I haven't,' said Cynthia.

There was something in her voice which her turn and look at her. Mrs Ford might affect to be resigned, but she was a woman of determination, and if the had left her bruised, it had by no means her.

'Cynthia! What do you mean? What are you hinting?'

'You amateurs, Nesta, but, for all that, it that your who as a of and all the of it have not been a more successful. It was not my want of that me fail. It was my sex. This is man's work. If I had been a man, I should at least have had to upon when Mr Mennick arrived.'

Mrs Ford nodded.

'Yes, but—'

'And,' Cynthia, 'as all these Smooth Sam Fishers of yours have failed too, it is that the only way to Ogden is from within. We must have some man for us in the enemy's camp.'

'Which is impossible,' said Mrs Ford dejectedly.

'Not at all.'

'You know a man?'

'I know the man.'

'Cynthia! What do you mean? Who is he?'

'His name is Peter Burns.'

Mrs Ford her head.

'I don't know him.'

'I'll you. You'll like him.'

'But, Cynthia, how do you know he would be to help us?'

'He would do it for me,' Cynthia paused. 'You see,' she on, 'we are to be married.'

'My dear Cynthia! Why did you not tell me? When did it happen?'

'Last night at the Fletchers' dance.'

Mrs Ford's opened.

'Last night! Were you at a last night? And two railway today! You must be to death.'

'Oh, I'm all right, thanks. I I shall be a and not fit to be tomorrow, but just at present I as if nothing me. It's the of being engaged, perhaps.'

'Tell me about him.'

'Well, he's rich, and good-looking, and amiable'—Cynthia off these on her fingers—'and I think he's brave, and he's not so as Mr Broster.'

'And you're very much in love with him?'

'I like him. There's no in Peter.'

'You aren't enthusiastic!'

'Oh, we shall it off well together. I needn't to you, Nesta, thank goodness! That's one why I'm of you. You know how I am situated. I've got to some one rich, and Peter's the rich man I've met. He's unselfish. I can't it. With his money, you would him to be a perfect horror.'

A to Mrs Ford.

'But, if he's so rich—' she began. 'I what I was going to say,' she off.

'Dear Nesta, I know what you were going to say. If he's so rich, why should he be marrying me, when he take his of London? Well, I'll tell you. He's marrying me for one reason, he's sorry for me: for another, I had the to make him. He didn't think he was going to anyone. A years ago he had a disappointment. A girl him. She must have been a fool. He he was going to live the of his life alone with his heart. I didn't to allow that. It's taken a long time—over two years, from start to finish—but I've done it. He's a sentimentalist. I on his sympathy, and last night I him to me at the Fletchers' dance.'

Mrs Ford had not to these unmoved. Several times she had to interrupt, but had been aside. Now she spoke sharply.

'You know I was not going to say anything of the kind. And I don't think you should speak in this horrible, way of—of—'

She stopped, flushing. There were moments when she Cynthia. These for the most part when the latter, as now, her to an of which she looked on as unbecoming. Mrs Ford had twenty years trying to that her husband had married her from the of a store in an Illinois village, and these into the of her her uncomfortable.

'I wasn't going to say anything of the kind,' she repeated.

Cynthia was all good-humour.

'I know. I was only you. "Stringing", they call it in your country, don't they?'

Mrs Ford was mollified.

'I'm sorry, Cynthia. I didn't to at you. All the same …' She hesitated. What she wanted to ask so of Mechanicsville, Illinois. Yet she put the question bravely, for she was somehow about this unknown Mr Burns. 'Aren't you of him at all, Cynthia?'

Cynthia beamed.

'Of I am! He's a dear. Nothing would make me give him up. I'm to old Peter. I only told you all that about him it you how kind-hearted he is. He'll do anything for me. Well, shall I him about Ogden?'

The magic word took Mrs Ford's mind off the of Mr Burns, and him into in his of knight-errant. She laughed happily. The of Mr Burns as knight-errant the of defeat. The of Mr Mennick to appear in the light of a skirmish.

'You take my away!' she said. 'How do you that Mr

Burns shall help us?'

'It's perfectly simple. You Mr Mennick read that telegram. Ogden is to be sent to a private school. Peter shall go there too.'

'But how? I don't understand. We don't know which Mr

Mennick will choose.'

'We can very soon out.'

'But how can Mr Burns go there?'

'Nothing easier. He will be a man who has been left a little money and wants to start a of his own. He goes to Ogden's man and that he pay a small premium to come to him for a term as an extra-assistant-master, to learn the business. Mr Man will jump at him. He will be the of his life. Peter didn't much of a at Oxford, but I he was at games. From a private-school point of view he's a treasure.'

'But—would he do it?'

'I think I can him.'

Mrs Ford her with an which she had for Ogden.

'My girl,' she cried, 'if you how happy you have me!'

'I do,' said Cynthia definitely. 'And now you can do the same for me.'

'Anything, anything! You must have some more hats.'

'I don't want any more hats. I want to go with you on Lord

Mountry's to the Riviera.'

'Of course,' said Mrs Ford after a pause, 'it isn't my party, you know, dear.'

'No. But you can work me in, darling.'

'It's a small party. Very quiet.'

'Crowds me. I quiet.'

Mrs Ford capitulated.

'I you are doing me a very good turn,' she said. 'You must come on the yacht.'

'I'll tell Peter to come here now,' said Cynthia simply. She to the telephone.

Part Two

In which other parties, one Buck MacGinnis and a rival, Smooth Sam Fisher, make other plans for the Nugget's future. Of times at a private for gentlemen. Of stratagems, spoils, and by night. Of in lovers' meetings. The whole related by Mr Peter Burns, of leisure, who that in a good cause.

Peter Burns's Narrative