"Johnny'sberg--yes; because the police----" "H-hush! That's done with; I've forgotten," said Carl hastily. "But--but you're down on your luck. I haven't forgotten that we were friends then, at any rate. This place is too public for a meeting. Take me somewhere where we can be quiet." And thus it happened that they were closeted in that back room in the grimy house adjacent to Whitechapel. "And so you're down, penniless," said Carl, eyeing his one-time friend narrowly. "Absolutely; hopelessly." The opulent individual who had sought this interview so craftily lifted ten fat fingers to show his concern. Then he dipped with difficulty into a waistcoat pocket, pulled out a crinkling note of the value of five pounds, and handed it across the dirty table. "That'll tide you over for a little," he said. "After that----" "Ah! That's where the pinch comes. What am I to do?" "You want work?" asked Carl. "Well, yes. Not hard labour, mind you. The class of thing we did out in South Africa wouldn't come amiss." Whatever that task may have been one was not to hear it, for Carl held up a fat hand instantly. "S-s-sh!" he said, somewhat angrily. "Least said soonest mended. We forget South Africa. But--yes, I might find a task for you, a congenial task. You've heard of this new airship?" Adolf Fruhmann looked puzzled. After all, when a man has fallen upon evil days and finds it hard to discover from where his next meal is to come, he is not apt to betray much interest in passing events, nor has he, often enough, spare halfpence with which to purchase journals. But it happened that Adolf had seen an account in a paper, and since the story had now leaked out, and it was known how Mr. Carl Reitberg had issued a challenge to Andrew Provost and his nephew Joseph Gresson, he recollected that he had even noted the name of his one-time friend and associate in connection with this wonderful airship. "Yes," he ejaculated. "One hundred thousand pounds, eh, Carl? A lot to lose if they win, and it looks as if they might do so." A crafty look came across his face. He leaned farther across the table and whispered something. "Why don't you?" he asked. "What! Impossible! I couldn't. It would be scandalous," came the instant answer, though Carl Reitberg's tones rather belied his words. "You don't mean to suggest that I should take steps to--to destroy the ship?" He endeavoured to cast a tone of indignation into his speech now; but it seemed that Adolf knew his man well. He scoffed at that tone. "Why not?" he asked quickly. "If they win, you pay one hundred thousand pounds. Eh? One hundred thousand sovereigns." "True--but----"