Lord Tilbury sighed. He found this young man’s eccentricities increasingly hard to bear. With that sad wistfulness which the Greeks called _pathos_ and the Romans _desiderium_, he thought of the happy days, only a few weeks back, when he had been a peaceful, care-free man, ignorant of Sam’s very existence. He had had his troubles then, no doubt; but how small and trivial they seemed now. “I suppose Twist will shave off his moustache if you wish it,” he said wearily. Chancing to catch that eminent private investigator’s eye, he was surprised to note its glazed and despairing expression. The man had the air of one who has received a death sentence. “Shave it?” quavered Chimp, fondling the growth tenderly. “Shave my moustache?” “Shave it,” said Sam firmly. “Hew it down. Raze it to the soil and sow salt upon the foundations.” “Very good, sir,” said Chimp lugubriously. “That is settled then,” said Lord Tilbury, relieved. “So you will enter Mr. Shotter’s employment immediately, Twist.” Chimp nodded a mournful nod. “You will find Twist thoroughly satisfactory, I am sure. He is quiet, sober, respectful and hard-working.” “Ah, that’s bad,” said Sam. Lord Tilbury heaved another sigh. CHAPTER TWENTY TROUBLE IN THE SYNDICATE When Chimp Twist left Tilbury House, he turned westward along the Embankment, for he had an appointment to meet his colleagues of the syndicate at the Lyons tea shop in Green Street, Leicester Square. The depression which had swept over him on hearing Sam’s dreadful edict had not lasted long. Men of Mr. Twist’s mode of life are generally resilient. They have to be. After all, he felt, it would be churlish of him, in the face of this almost supernatural slice of luck, to grumble at the one crumpled rose leaf. Besides, it would only take him about a couple of days to get away with the treasure of Mon Repos, and then he could go into retirement and grow his moustache again. For there is this about moustaches, as about whiskers--though of these Mr. Twist, to do him justice, had never been guilty--that, like truth, though crushed to the earth, they will rise. A little patience and his moustache will rise on stepping-stones of its dead self to higher things. Yes, when the fields were white with daisies it would return. Pondering thus, Chimp Twist walked briskly to the end of the Embankment, turned up Northumberland Avenue, and reaching his destination, found Mr. and Mrs. Molloy waiting for him at a table in a far corner.