Before Peter had had time to take his eyes from the match with which he lit his companion’s cigarette——there was a tap at the door—Plunkett entered. Linnell tore open the telegram that was handed to him. Then he smiled. Peter looked over his shoulder. Then he smiled in his turn, and read aloud what he saw. “Say! What the hell’s biting you—when I say Buy—then Buy. Got that? Stewart.” That was the intelligent rendering of the message. A message which looked and sounded even cruder and terser in the unpunctuated word-arrangement of telegrams. Linnell’s smile developed into a ringing laugh. “I’ve been barking up the wrong tree, after all, Peter. Still—one can’t be too careful. You’ll go along then on Friday and——” Plunkett reappeared in the doorway. “Another telegram, sir.” Linnell looked surprised. Then read the second message. “Say—you don’t _look_ before you leap—you take a magnifying glass. Same name as before.” “Mr. Stewart has a decided sense of humor,” commented David Linnell. “But I’d sooner he took liberties with my ‘_amour propre_’ than with my pocket.” Peter laughed. “Some people wouldn’t,” continued Linnell, determined to justify himself, “but I _would_. And even if he is a millionaire—to put four words where he could have used one—should have used one in fact, is just a piece of reckless and shameless waste—and that’s all there is to it.” He turned to Daventry, proudly conscious that he was safeguarding an important principle. “I think I’ll go myself and have a glance at the stuff to-morrow, Peter—after all he’s a millionaire—and business is business. Where did you lunch?” “At the ‘Violette,’” was the reply. “And, by the by, whatever you do—don’t upset the cruet.” “What do you mean?” Linnell looked at him curiously. Peter recounted the incident that had occurred earlier in the day. “Probably quite an accident,” he concluded, “and a coincidence—still it took my breath away, as it were, for just the moment.” Linnell thought for a moment or two. “Probably nothing in it, Peter. You had the thing on your mind and were over-imaginative. What are you doing to-night? Anything special?” “I’m dining at the Club. And I may have a rubber or two afterwards.” “Good. I sha’n’t be in, in the morning. I may run down to Berkshire this evening, and in any case I’ll go straight on to Day, Forshaw and Palmers’ first thing to-morrow. I’m really very anxious to see the actual objects of this extraordinary commission of ours!” But just as Peter was destined never to buy them, so Linnell was fated not to see them on the morrow.