away and replace the plaster under the
paper for the infernal mixture had soaked deep. Still the colonel had
plenty to occupy his mind. What he called his legitimate business had
been sadly neglected of late. Reports had come in from all sorts of
agencies, reports which might by careful study be turned to the greatest
advantage. There was the affair of Lady Glenmerrin. He had been months
accumulating evidence of that lady's marital delinquencies, and now the
iron was ready to strike--and he simply had no interest in a deal which
might very easily transfer the famous Glenmerrin Farms to his charge at
a nominal figure.

And there were other prospects as alluring. But for the moment the
colonel was mainly interested in the stock value of Colonel Dan Boundary
and the possibility of violent fluctuations. He was losing grip. The
story of Jack o' Judgment had circulated with amazing rapidity, by all
manner of underground channels, to people vitally concerned. Crewe, who
had been a stand-by in almost every big coup he had pulled off, was as
stable as pulp. White his right-hand man, was dead. Pinto--well, Pinto
would go his own way just when it suited him. He had no doubt whatever
as to Pinto's loyalty. Silva had big estates in Portugal, to which he
would retire just when things were getting warm and interesting.
Moreover, the British Government could not extradite Pinto from his
native land.

The colonel found himself regretting that he had missed the opportunity
of taking up American citizenship during the seven years he had spent in
San Francisco. And what of Crewe? Crewe was to reveal himself most
unmistakably. He came in in the late afternoon and found the colonel
working through the litter on his desk.

"Have you started your search at Oxford?" asked the colonel.

"I've sent two men down there--the best men in London," replied Crewe.

He drew up a chair to the desk and flung his hat on a near-by couch.

"I want to have a little talk with you, colonel."

Boundary looked up sharply.

"That sounds bad," he said. "What do you want to talk about? The
weather?"

"Hardly," said Crewe. A little pause, and then: "Colonel, I'm going to
quit."

The colonel made no reply. He went on writing his letter, and not until
he reached the end of the page and carefully blotted the epistle did he
meet Crewe's eyes.

"So you're going to quit, are you?" said Boundary. "Cold feet?"

"Something like that," said Crewe. "Of course, I'