"Old?" said Varney, surprised at the question, "Oh, I don't know. The separation took place--h'm--say eight years ago, and my guess is that she was about four at the time. From this and the way Uncle Elbert spoke of her, I daresay twelve would hit it fair and square. A grand age for kidnapping, what?" "On the contrary," said Peter, "it makes it mere baby-work. Turn it over as you will, it all boils down to spanking a naughty child." "Never! Think of slipping a cog in our plans--making a false start, having somebody get on to us! Why, man, there may be jail for us both in this!" He examined Peter's face hopefully, but found unaffected apathy there. "Suppose," he cried boastfully, "that the Associated Press got on to it! Think of the disgrace of it! 'Millionaire Maginnis Caught Kidnapping!' Think of being fired from the Curzon and having to leave New York a hunted and broken man! Think," he added in an inspired climax, "of having your photograph in the Sunday _Herald_!" Maginnis perked up visibly at this. "There is no chance of that really, do you think?" "None in the world," said Varney desperately. He felt sure that this had cost him Peter, whom he had come to as his oldest and best friend. Having no idea whom he could turn to next, he rose, tentatively, and for the moral effect, to go. "After all," he said aloud, "I have another man in my mind who would, on second thoughts, suit me better." "Oh, sit down!" cried Peter, impatiently. Larry sat down. His face showed, in spite of him, how really anxious he was to have Peter go. There was a brief pause. "Since you are so crazy to have me," said Peter, "I'll go." "Thank you," said Varney. He picked up his glass, which he had hitherto not touched, drained it at a gulp and pushed the bell vigorously. "I knew," he cried, "that you'd see the possibilities when once your brain began to work." Peter's faint smile was an insult in its way. "Three things have decided me to go with you, old son, and none of them has anything to do with your possibilities. The first is that I'm the one man in a million you really need in case of trouble." "Peter, your modesty is your curse." "The second is--did you read the _Sun_ this morning? It seems that this little town of Hunston is having a violent spasm of politics right now. Rather lucky coincidence, I should say. The dispatch I read was pretty vague, but I gather that there's an interesting fight on between a strong machine and a small but firm reform movement." "Ha! Occupation for you while I beat the woods for little Mary." "I'll need it." "Well, what was your other wonderful reason?" "Don't you know? It is that sixty horse-power oath your uncle made you swear." "Because it committed me, you mean?" The door opened, men entered noisily, and Peter had to draw Varney aside to explain darkly: "Because it committed me to wondering what difficulties foxy old Carstairs made a point of concealing from you."