"Yours to-day, my lady--yours to-day; but my chance will come, and when it does, look out for yourself." CHAPTER XVII. COUNTERCHECK. Mr. Effingham began to think that the position of affairs was growing serious. A month had elapsed since his interview with old Mr. Lyons at the Net of Lemons, and he had not gained one scrap of information as to the whereabouts of the holder of the forged bill, which was to be held _in terrorem_ over Sir Charles Mitford for money-extracting purposes, and which was finally to be given up for an enormous round sum. Not a single scrap; and worse than all, he had so devoted himself to this one scent, that his other chances of money-getting were falling into disuse. Not that there was much to be done elsewhere; it was the off-racing season, so that his trade of tipster and tout, with occasional sallies into the arena of welching, could not have been turned to very profitable purpose. The Bank authorities had lately been terribly wideawake; several packets of slippery greasy half-crowns, and many rolls of soft sleezy bank-notes, lay hid in their manufacturer's and engraver's workshops, waiting a better time for their circulation. There had been some notable burglaries both in town and country. Gentlemen with blackened faces who wore smock-frocks over their ordinary clothes had done some very creditable work in out-of-the-way mansions and London houses whose owners were entertaining company in the country, and the melting-pots of old Mr. Lyons and others of his fraternity were rarely off the fire. But this branch of trade was entirely out of Mr. Effingham's line. "He's a good 'un at passing a half-bull or at spinning a flash fiver. There's a air about him that goes down uncommon. He's fust-rate for that, is D'Ossay Butler; but as rank a little cur as ever waddled. When he thinks traps is on, he's off; and as to my cracksman's business, or anything where pluck's wanted, Lor' bless you, you might as well have a girl in highstrikes as D'Ossay." That was what his companions said of him, and it was pretty nearly true. Where a little swaggering bantam-cock demeanour was of use, D'Ossay succeeded; but where anything like physical courage or physical force was required, he was no good at all.