"Dear old Marguerite," said Bones solemnly, "a new era has dawned in the City. As jolly old Confusicus says: 'The moving finger writes, and that's all about it.' Will you deign to honour me with your presence in my sanctorum, and may I again beg of you"--he leant his bony knuckles on the ornate desk which he had provided for her, and looked down upon her soberly--"may I again ask you, dear old miss, to let me change offices? It's a little thing, dear old miss. I'm never, never goin' to ask you to dinner again, but this is another matter. I am out of my element in such a place as----" He waved his hand disparagingly towards his sanctum. "I'm a rough old adventurer, used to sleeping in the snow--hardships--I can sleep anywhere." "Anyway, you're not supposed to sleep in the office," smiled the girl, rising. Bones pushed open the door for her, bowed as she passed, and followed her. He drew a chair up to the desk, and she sat down without further protest, because she had come to know that his attentions, his extravagant politeness and violent courtesies, signified no more than was apparent--namely, that he was a great cavalier at heart. "I think you ought to know," he said gravely, "that an attempt was made this morning to rob me of umpteen pounds." "To rob you?" said the startled girl. "To rob me," said Bones, with relish. "A dastardly plot, happily frustrated by the ingenuity of the intended victim. I don't want to boast, dear old miss. Nothing is farther from my thoughts or wishes, but what's more natural when a fellow is offered a----" He stopped and frowned. "Yes?" "A precious metal refiner's---- That's rum," said Bones. "Rum?" repeated the girl hazily. "What is rum?" "Of all the rummy old coincidences," said Bones, with restrained and hollow enthusiasm--"why, only this morning I was reading in _Twiddly Bits_, a ripping little paper, dear old miss---- There's a column called 'Things You Ought to Know,' which is honestly worth the twopence." "I know it," said the girl curiously. "But what did you read?" "It was an article called 'Fortunes Made in Old Iron,'" said Bones. "Now, suppose this naughty old refiner---- By Jove, it's an idea!" He paced the room energetically, changing the aspect of his face with great rapidity, as wandering thoughts crowded in upon him and vast possibilities shook their alluring banners upon the pleasant scene he conjured. Suddenly he pulled himself together, shot out his cuffs, opened and closed all the drawers of his desk as though seeking something--he found it where he had left it, hanging on a peg behind the door, and put it on--and said with great determination and briskness: "Stivvins' Wharf, Greenhithe. You will accompany me. Bring your note-book. It is not necessary to bring a typewriter. I will arrange for a taxicab. We can do the journey in two hours." "But where are you going?" asked the startled girl.