u," said Bones. "Thank you, dear old commercial guardian.
What is the business worth?"

"It's worth your while to keep away from it," said the humorous reply,
and Bones hung up the receiver.

"Ham, old dear," he said, and Hamilton looked up. "Suppose," said
Bones, stretching out his legs and fixing his monocle, "suppose, my
jolly old accountant and partner, you were offered a business which was
worth"--he paused--"which was worth your while keeping away from
it--that's a pretty good line, don't you think, old literary critic?"

"A very good line," said Hamilton calmly; "but you have rather a
loud-speaking telephone, and I think I have heard the phrase before."

"Oh, have you?" said Bones by no means abashed. "Still, it's a very
good line. And suppose you were offered this printing business for
fifteen thousand pounds, what would you say?"

"It depends on who was present," said Ham, "and where I was. For
example, if I were in the gorgeous drawing-room of your wonderful flat,
in the splendid presence of your lovely lady wife to be----"

Bones rose and wagged his finger.

"Is nothing sacred to you, dear old Ham?" he choked. "Are the most
tender emotions, dear old thing, which have ever been experienced by
any human being----"

"Oh, shut up," said Hamilton, "and let's hear about this financial
problem of yours."

Bones was ruffled, and blinked, and it was some time before he could
bring himself back to sordid matters of business.

"Well, suppose this jolly old brigand offered you his perfectly beastly
business for fifteen thousand pounds, what would you do?"

"Send for the police," said Hamilton.

"Would you now?" said Bones, as if the idea struck him for the first
time. "I never have sent for the police you know, and I've had simply
terrible offers put up to me."

"Or put it in the waste-paper basket," said Hamilton, and then in
surprise: "Why the dickens are you asking all these questions?"

"Why am I asking all these questions?" repeated Bones. "Because, old
thing, I have a hump."

Hamilton raised incredulous eyebrows.

"I have what the Americans call a hump."

"A hump?" said Hamilton, puzzled. "Oh, you mean a 'hunch.'"

"Hump or hunch, it's all the same," said Bones airily. "But I've got
it."

"What exactly is your hunch?"

"There's something behind this," said Bones, tapping a finger solemnly
on the desk. "There's a scheme behind this--there's a swindle--there's
a ramp. Nobody imag