"Farquharson had interviewed the Sheikh first, of course," said Calvert simply. "He had made his way into the private apartments, every inch of the way to which was guarded. How he did it I don’t know. Even by day only the members of the immediate household were allowed to approach within praying distance of the burying-place of his ancestors, where he had ensconced himself. I know Farquharson only reached him at the peril of his own life. He said the old man was quite reasonable under sheer stress of terror, and delighted to accept four lakhs of rupees for the transfer of the island. I told you he was old, and, luckily for us, his sons were lepers. I gave him his summer palace for his own use and that of the heirs immediate of his body in their lifetime. They were not to go beyond the walls without a permit for fear of insurrection. Aba was possibly the more amenable because he was frightened out of such wits as he still possessed at the thought of being killed in the same way that he had killed so many others." "The three men actually were sent to prison then?" asked Creagh. "Call it free accommodation in an hotel, it sounds better," Farquharson corrected blandly. He had caught the last words as the men approached. "I take it that a liberal supply of palm-oil greased your way through those closed doors," said Creagh, turning. Farquharson laughed. "Oh, I had luck all through. I lighted upon the most useful drug in the bazaar, an excellent remedy for sleeplessness." "I should like to hear more about your doings, Mr. Farquharson," said Beadon curiously. "They’re worth hearing." Creagh’s tone was hearty. "He ran a great risk, but it was to some purpose. You and I know how useful Mr. Calvert has been to us, Beadon; how often his munificent gifts have helped the nation through tight places when our own exchequer has run dry. I’m sure he would be the first to acknowledge that he owes much of his fortune to Mr. Farquharson’s help." Calvert nodded approvingly. Things were panning out as he hoped. He appreciated Creagh’s praise, but his eyes were fixed on Beadon—the man who, politically speaking, held Farquharson’s future in his hand. And for the moment Beadon was silent. Then— "What did you yourself get out of it all?" he asked abruptly. "At first I was under the impression that you were Calvert’s secretary, but some one told me to-night that you held an even more important post." Calvert laid his hand affectionately upon the young man’s shoulder.