"The only thing I thought was," said Hamilton, "that I didn't see the spider." "Don't stickle, dear old partner," said Bones testily. "It may have been an earwig. Now, as a man of the world, dear old _blase_ one, do you think I'd compromise an innocent typewriter? Do you think I ought to----" He paused, but his voice was eager. "That," said Hamilton, "is purely a question for the lady. Now, what are you going to do with this lamp. Are you going to float it?" Bones scowled at the glaring headlight. "That depends whether the naughty old things float, Ham," he said venomously. "If you think they will, my old eye-witness, how about tyin' a couple of bricks round 'em before I chuck 'em in. What?" CHAPTER X THE BRANCH LINE Not all the investments of Bones paid dividends. Some cost him money. Some cost him time. Some--and they were few--cost him both. Somewhere in a marine store in London lie the battered wrecks of what were once electro-plated motor-lamps of a peculiar and, to Bones, sinister design. They were all that was left of a great commercial scheme, based upon the flotation of a lamp that never went out. On a day of crisis in Bones's life they had gone out, which was bad. They had come on at an inconvenient moment, which was worse, since they had revealed him and his secretary in tender attitudes. And Bones had gone gaily to right the wrong, and had been received with cold politeness by the lady concerned. There was a week of gloom, when Bones adopted towards his invaluable assistant the air and manner of one who was in the last stages of a wasting disease. Miss Marguerite Whitland never came into Bones's office without finding him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, except once, when she came in without knocking and Bones hadn't the time to strike that picturesque attitude. Indeed, throughout that week she never saw him but he was swaying, or standing with his hand before his eyes, or clutching on to the edge of a chair, or walking with feeble footsteps; and she never spoke to him but he replied with a tired, wan smile, until she became seriously alarmed, thinking his brain was affected, and consulted Captain Hamilton, his partner. "Look here, Bones, you miserable devil," said Hamilton, "you're scaring that poor girl. What the dickens do you mean by it?" "Scaring who?" said Bones, obviously pleased. "Am I really? Is she fearfully cut up, dear old thing?" "She is," said Hamilton truthfully. "She thinks you're going dotty." "Vulgarity, vulgarity, dear old officer," said Bones, much annoyed. "I told her you were often like that," Hamilton went on wilfully. "I said that you were a little worse, if anything, after your last love affair----" "Heavens!" nearly screamed Bones. "You didn't tell her anything about your lovely old sister Patricia?"