His Lordship came to a standstill and something faintly resembling relief appeared in his square-cut face. Ever since the days when he had been plain George Pyke, starting in business with a small capital and a large ambition, his sister Frances had always been a rock of support. It might be that her advice would help him to cope with the problem which was vexing him now. “Sit down, Francie,” he said. “Thank goodness you’ve come. Just the person I want to talk to.” “What’s wrong?” “I’m telling you. You remember that when I was in America I met a man named Pynsent?” “Yes.” “This man Pynsent was the owner of an island off the coast of Maine.” “Yes, I know. And you----” “An island,” continued Lord Tilbury, “densely covered with trees. He used it merely as a place of retirement, for the purpose of shooting and fishing; but when he invited me there for a week-end I saw its commercial possibilities in an instant.” “Yes, you told me. You----” “I said to myself,” proceeded Lord Tilbury, one of whose less engaging peculiarities it was that he never permitted the fact that his audience was familiar with a story to keep him from telling it again, “I said to myself, ‘This island, properly developed, could supply all the paper the Mammoth needs and save me thousands a year!’ It was my intention to buy the place and start paper mills.” “Yes, and----” “Paper mills,” said Lord Tilbury firmly. “I made an offer to Pynsent. He shilly-shallied. I increased my offer. Still he would give me no definite answer. Sometimes he seemed willing to sell, and then he would change his mind. And then, when I was compelled to leave and return to England, an idea struck me. He had been talking about his nephew and how he was anxious for him to settle down and do something----” “So you offered to take him over here and employ him in the Mammoth,” said Mrs. Hammond with a touch of impatience. She loved and revered her brother, but she could not conceal it from herself that he sometimes tended to be prolix. “You thought it would put him under an obligation.” “Exactly. I imagined I was being shrewd. I supposed that I was introducing into the affair just that little human touch which sometimes makes all the difference. Well, it will be a bitter warning to me never again to be too clever. Half the business deals in this world are ruined by one side or the other trying to be too clever.” “But, George, what has happened? What is wrong?” Lord Tilbury resumed his patrol of the carpet. “I’m telling you. It was all arranged that he should sail back with me on the _Mauretania_, but when the vessel left he was nowhere to be found. And then, about the second day out, I received a wireless message saying, ‘Sorry not to be with you. Coming _Araminta_. Love to all.’ I could not make head or tail of it.” “No,” said Mrs. Hammond thoughtfully; “it is very puzzling. I think it may possibly have meant----”