“You are magnificent, Gorman,” he said, “and your English press! Ah, my friend, if you had been Prime Minister in Megalia, and if there had been newspapers, I might to-day be sitting on the throne, though I do not want to, not at all. The throne of Megalia is what you call a hot spot. But my friend is it wise? There must be someone who knows that the Pink Vulture of Megalia is not an antique. It is, as the English say, mid-Victorian. 1865, Gorman. That is the date; and someone will know that.” “I daresay,” said Gorman, “that there may be two or three people who know; but they haven’t opened their mouths so far and before they do we ought to have Bilkins’ checque safe.” “How much?” said Madame. “That is the thing which matters.” “After he’s read the list of distinguished men who held the order in the past and digested the names of all the generals and people who’ve just been given it, we may fairly expect £5,000. We’ll screw him up a bit if we can, but we won’t take a penny less. Considering the row there’ll be afterwards, when Bilkins finds out, we ought to get £10,000. It will be most unpleasant, and it’s bound to come. Most of the others will refuse the Order as soon as they hear they’ve been given it, and Bilkins will storm horribly and say he has been swindled, not that there is any harm in swindling Bilkins. After that egg racket of his he deserves to be swindled. Still it won’t be nice to have to listen to him.” “Bah!” said Madame, “we shall have the cash.” “And it was not I,” said the king, “who said that the Duke of Wellington wore the Pink Vulture. It was not Corinne. It was not you, Gorman, It was the newspapers. When Bilkins come to us we say ‘Bah! Go to _The Times_, Sir Bilkins, go to _The Daily Mail_.’ There is no more for Bilkins to say then.” “One comfort,” said Gorman, “is that he can’t take a legal action of any kind.” Their fears were, as it turned out, unfounded. Bilkins, having paid, not £5,000 but £6,000, for the Megalian Order, was not anxious to advertise the fact that he had made a bad bargain. Indeed he may be said to have got good value for his money. He has not many opportunities of wearing the ribbon and the star; but he describes himself on his visiting cards and at the head of his business note paper as “Sir Timothy Bilkins, K.C.O.P.V.M.” Nobody knows what the letters stand for, and it is generally believed that Bilkins has been knighted in the regular way for services rendered to the country during the war. The few who remember his deal in eggs are forced to suppose that the stories told about that business at the time were slander. Lady Bilkins, who was present at the ceremony of in-vesture, often talks of the “dear King and Queen of Megalia.” Madame Ypsilante can, when she chooses, look quite like a real queen. X. THE EMERALD PENDANT