, coated with dust and wearing a harassed air.

"Look," said Sir Tancred, "that's Blumenruth, the Jungle millionaire."

The financier gazed gloomily round the room, looking for a table. At
the sight of Sir Tancred, an idea seemed to strike him, his face
brightened a little, and he came to them.

"How do you do, Sir Tancred Beauleigh?" he said, shaking hands warmly.
"May I dine at your table? I want a word with you, a word which may be
profitable to both of us."

"By all means," said Sir Tancred in the manner he always adopted
towards profitable financiers of Hamburg extraction, a manner extremely
condescending, without being offensive.

The financier sat down; smudged the dust across his face with a
coloured silk handkerchief; and breathed heavily. Then he looked at
Tinker as though he would like him sent away.

"Anything you may say before him will go no further," said Sir Tancred,
quick to mark the meaning of the look. "Let me introduce you. Mr.
Blumenruth, my son Hildebrand."

The financier bowed, but he still looked unhappy at Tinker's presence.
A waiter brought him some soup, and he began upon it hurriedly. Sir
Tancred went on with his dinner in a tranquil indifference. The
financier finished his soup: looked again at Tinker, and burst out:
"Well, it can't make any difference! I want your help, Sir Tancred,
and you're the one man in England who can help me; you're used to these
things." And he smudged the dust on his face a little more.

Sir Tancred murmured politely, "Only too pleased."

"I must be in Paris either to-night or to-morrow morning for an hour's
talk with Meyer before the Bourse opens. And I must leave England
without anyone knowing I've left it. It may make a difference to me
of--of a hundred thousand pounds."

"Pardon me," said Sir Tancred suavely. "I like my clients to be open
with me. It will make a difference of ruin. The Cohens have you in a
hole."

The millionaire gasped, "My goodness! how did you know? It means
ruin--or--or I make a hundred thousand."

"I see," said Sir Tancred. "Well?"

"I left London quietly in a motor-car. Before I'd gone twenty miles, a
racing Panhard, stuffed with private detectives--men I've sometimes
employed myself"--he almost sobbed at the thought--"passed me; and
another came up, and dropped back to a mile behind. They're here in
Brighton. I'd given it up; I was going to dine here, sleep the night,
and go back to London to fight it o