"No, dear young typewriter, I am not," Bones said firmly. "It's all about the beastly jute, telling me to take it away. Now, where the dickens am I going to put it, eh? Never talk to me about jute," he said violently. "If I saw a jute tree at this moment, I'd simply hate the sight of it!" She looked at him in astonishment. "Why, whatever's wrong?" she asked anxiously. "Nothing," said Bones. "Nothing," he added brokenly. "Oh, nothing, dear young typewriting person." She paused irresolutely, then picked up the envelope and cut open the flap. Remember that she knew nothing, except that Bones had made a big purchase, and that she was perfectly confident--such was her sublime faith in Augustus Tibbetts--that he would make a lot of money as a result of that purchase. Therefore the consternation on her face as she read its contents. "Why," she stammered, "you've never done---- Whatever made you do that?" "Do what?" said Bones hollowly. "What made me do it? Greed, dear old sister, just wicked, naughty greed." "But I thought," she said, bewildered, "You were going to make so much out of this deal?" "Ha, ha," said Bones without mirth. "But weren't you?" she asked. "I don't think so," said Bones gently. "Oh! So that was why you cancelled the contract?" Hamilton jumped to his feet. "Cancelled the contract?" he said incredulously. "Cancelled the contract?" squeaked Bones. "What a naughty old story-teller you are!" "But you have," said the girl. "Here's a note from the Ministry, regretting that you should have changed your mind and taken advantage of Clause Seven. The contract was cancelled at four forty-nine." Bones swallowed something. "This is spiritualism," he said solemnly. "I'll never say a word against jolly old Brigham Young after this!" In the meantime two ladies who had arrived in Paris, somewhat weary and bedraggled, were taking their morning coffee outside the Cafe de la Paix. "Anyway, my dear," said Clara viciously, in answer to her sister's plaint, "we've given that young devil a bit of trouble. Perhaps they won't renew the contract, and anyway, it'll take a bit of proving that he did not sign that cancellation I handed in." As a matter of fact, Bones never attempted to prove it. CHAPTER VII DETECTIVE BONES Mr. Harold de Vinne was a large man, who dwelt at the dead end of a massive cigar. He was big and broad-shouldered, and automatically jovial. Between the hours of 6 p.m. and 2 a.m. he had earned the name of "good fellow," which reputation he did his best to destroy between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. He was one of four stout fellows who controlled companies of imposing stability--the kind of companies that have such items in their balance sheets as "Sundry Debtors, L107,402 12_s_. 7_d_." People feel, on reading such airy lines, that the company's assets are of such magnitude that the sundry debtors are only included as a careless afterthought.