"A day an' five-sevenths, 'coss one man can do one quarter in a day, and t'other man a third, which is seven-twelfths, leavin' five-twelfths to be done next day." Though the millionaire financier was nettled, he did not show it, but paid the shilling with apparent good grace. "Did _you_ find that out--or was it Dick Davies?" he asked. "Both of us, sir, wiv' a foot rule." "And how far is the Symon's Yat Hotel, measured by that rule?" "Half a mile, sir, down that there lane." While traveling slowly in the narrow way, Simmonds turned his head. "It doesn't follow that because the boy saw Viscount Medenham yesterday his lordship is here now, sir," he said. "You just do as you are told and pass no remarks," snapped Vanrenen. If the head of the house of Vanrenen were judged merely by that somewhat unworthy retort he would not be judged fairly. He was tired physically, worried mentally; he had been brought from Paris at an awkward moment; he was naturally devoted to his daughter; he believed that Medenham was an unmitigated scamp and Simmonds his tool; and his failure to solve Medenham's arithmetical problem still rankled. These considerations, among others, may be pleaded in his behalf. But, if Simmonds, who had stood on Spion Kop, refused to be browbeaten by a British earl, he certainly would not grovel before an American plutocrat. He had endured a good deal since five o'clock that morning. He told his tale honestly and fully; he even sympathized with a father's distress, though assured in his own mind that it was wholly unwarranted; he was genuinely sorry on hearing that Mr. Vanrenen had been searching the many hotels of Bristol for two hours before he came to the right one. But to be treated like a serf?--no, not if Simmonds knew it! The car stopped with a jerk. Out leaped the driver. "Now you can walk to the hotel," he said, though he distinguished the hotel by an utterly inappropriate adjective. The more sudden the crisis the more prepared was Vanrenen--that was his noted characteristic, whether dealing with men or money. "What has bitten _you_?" he demanded calmly. "You must find somebody else to do your detective work, that is all," came the stolid answer. "Don't be a mule." "I'm not a mule. You're makin' a d----d row about nothing. Viscount Medenham is a gentleman to his finger tips, and if you were one you'd know that he wouldn't hurt a hair of Miss Vanrenen's head, or any lady's, for that matter."