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 yachtLuana 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
