“Here is the letter. It arrived this morning,” said Ritten, and passed me across a sheet of note-paper, which bore at the top the inscription: “Headquarters of the 9th Army.” The letter was brief and peremptory: “Dear Sirs, “I am in need of £20,000 to pay off a mortgage which falls due on my Somerset property this week. My brother-in-law, Mr. Hiram S. Carter, the well-known railroad magnate of America, is on the ocean homeward-bound, and I cannot, therefore, get in touch with him. Upon his arrival the debt will be liquidated. I agree to pay a sum equivalent to 10 per cent. per annum for the accommodation. I apply to you because I have no desire to let my banker into the secret of my embarrassment. I shall be in London the day after to-morrow, on short leave. A note delivered to the Senior Army Club will find me.” “Well?” said Ritten, when I pushed the letter back to him. “By all means let him have the money,” I said. “You authorize it?” “Certainly,” I replied. “I have made inquiries,” said Ritten, “his brother-in-law is on the homeward trip, but the date of his arrival is rather uncertain. The mortgaged property is Penton Close, and the mortgagees are the London and Manchester Bank.” I nodded. “That explains why he does not wish to bother his bankers,” I said. “Send a note to the Senior Army Club and have the money ready for the General--this may mean a lot to us. It is the kind of connection that would be very useful.” Well might I feel elated. That an army commander should place himself in the hands of money-lenders, and such money-lenders, was distinctly a feather in my cap. It would not be well for my Lord Magward that the mighty War Office should know one of their trusted generals was borrowing money. On the other hand, it might be well for the Jermyn Credit Bank, if any question rose as to its _bonâ-fides_, that it had amongst its clients so august a personage. Whichever way I looked it was all to the good. The letter was despatched, and on the Monday Mr. Ritten called me up on the ’phone to say that the general was in his private office, and had signed the necessary documents and was waiting whilst the cheque was being cashed. “Come round and meet him,” suggested Ritten. “Am I a fool?” I replied sarcastically. “He is very interesting,” said Ritten. “I have much to tell you when I have the time. He has invited me to go to France to his headquarters, and to bring any friends I wish.” I could have hugged myself with delight. “Accept the invitation,” I said quickly, “also discover where the headquarters of the 9th Army are. Find out why he is on leave for such a short time, and whether his army had many casualties in the last offensive.” Ritten acknowledged my instructions and hung up the receiver, and I sat down at my desk to formulate a plan for the forthcoming visit which I intended to pay to an important headquarters of the British army in the field.