“Not till I can double on my track, and you have piped the whole situation off,” said Hawke. “The game is a queer one. I may want to come over later and show up and make a little society play on the girl. I may, however, join you and help you secretly, or I may have to stay away altogether. But I must act at once. There’s money in it. If you have to make the running yourself, you can get your own help.” “And, you have the real stuff?” agnostically demanded Jack Blunt. “What do you want for a starter as your pay for the report to be sent to me at the Hotel Faucon, Lausanne, Switzerland?” Hawke was eager and disposed to be liberal. “Oh! A hundred sovs for the job, as you lay it out--and fifty for my little incidentals,” laughed Jack Blunt. “Of course, if it goes on to anything serious, you’ll have to put away the real ‘boodle,’ where I have something to run with, if I have to cut it. I might run up a dangerous plant!” “Bah!” decisively said Hawke. “Only an old fool to dodge, who is over seventy--a dotard--and a foolish girl of eighteen--a simple boarding-school miss!” “Yes, but she has a million, you say. There’s always some one to love a girl with that money! Love comes in by the door, and the window, too, you know!” “She has never been five minutes alone with a man in her life!” cried Hawke. “You are safe--dead sure safe!” Blunt’s roving black eyes rested on Hawke’s eager face as he laughed. “And you want to marry her, to keep others from her, or run her off at the worst, you say? That’s your little game.” “I will have either the girl, or those jewels! By God! I will! I’ve got money to work with, plenty of it--not here,” cautiously said Hawke, “but there’s your hundred and fifty. Do you stand in?” “To the death--if you do the handsome thing, my boy!” said the handsome ruffian, pocketing the notes. “When do I start?” “Take the midnight train to Southampton, and go at work at once. I fear they may send some damned spies over there! Now, what’s your plan?” Major Hawke watched his old pal in a brown study. Jack Blunt had smoked half his cigar, when he brought his white hand down with a whack. “I have it! A combination of gentleman artist and literary gent! ‘The Mansion Homes of Jersey,’ to illustrate a volume for the use of tourists--London and Southwestern Railway’s enterprise. I’ll sneak in and do the grand. You want a correct sketch and map of house and grounds, and the whole lay out?” Artist Blunt was delightfully interested in his Jersey tour now. “Yes!” cried Alan Hawke, his eyes growing wolfish, and he leaned over to his companion and whispered for a few moments. “That’s the trick, Governor,” nodded Jack Blunt, “You work on the double event. And--I get my money--play or pay?” “Yes. Put up in good notes--only you are not to bungle!”