"But wait a bit," continued the burglar. "There's a six-years' limit for presentation, isn't there? This was due March 12th, 1897, and it's now--oh, Great Scott!--it's now March 18th, 1903! Too late by a week! Old man, you are unlucky! Two thousand solid sovereigns missed by a week, and you wantin' 'em all the time. It's beastly hard lines. Do have a light." But Sir John was too limp to smoke. "A millionaire in South America!" he gasped. "Why, he went out at my request to see if a concession I have there was worth anything. He reported adversely, and I've heard nothing about him since then." "What is your concession?" From the pile in front the knight found an imposing-looking parchment, decorated with the signature of a President and the seal of a State. He handed it to the burglar, who read it through carefully. Then he laid it down. "Sir John Carder," he said gravely, as a judge addressing a prisoner, "you are an unmitigated donkey. You must forgive the insult, but really the provocation is simply awful. I've lived in the Argentine, and if this concession of yours isn't the very one Mr. Thompson is now working for his own benefit I'm a double-dyed Dutchman." Sir John gazed at him open-eyed. "I can't believe you," he said. "Don't, if it hurts you," the burglar replied; "but I'll make a proposal, to show you I have no doubts about it myself. If you'll have me as equal partner with you in this concession matter, and leave me to manage it my own way, I'll take over your pay-day to-morrow, and be jolly well pleased with the bargain." "You'll meet my payments to-morrow!" gasped Sir John, who for some little time had been wondering whether he were awake or asleep, or in a post-mortem delirium consequent on a revolver shot. "You'll meet my payments!" Once more the burglar pulled out the cigar box. "Do have another," he said persuasively. Sir John took one mechanically, but after trying in vain to light it he put it down.