'Thank you very much,' she beamed, with a gratitude almost obtrusive, as she put the notes in the bag. She was aware that it is not correct to look surprised when your friends' cheques are honoured, but she was not quite able to hold the feeling in repression. Her bodyguard flung away half-consumed cigarettes and resigned themselves to their duties. A glance at the little bag showed that it had grown quite fat. 'Be very, very careful of me now,' ordered Peggy, as she stepped warily towards the hansom. 'There are seventy thousand thieves known to the police,' said Arty. 'Which gives one an idea of the mass of undiscovered crime in London,' added Miles. 'Now where to, _mon Général_?' '346 Cadogan Square,' Peggy told them. 'Oh, how I wish I could have a cigarette!' Both sympathetically offered to have one for her. 'The smoke will embarrass the assassin's aim,' Miles opined sagely. Arty broke out in a sudden discovery. 'You're going to Fricker's!' he cried. 'I have an appointment with Mr. Fricker,' said Peggy, with pretended carelessness. 'At last, Arty, I shall see the mansions of the gilt.' 'No, you'll wait outside,' Peggy informed him, with a cruelty spoilt by bubbling mirth. 'Is that where we're to pick up the other passenger?' asked Arty. 'You talk as if everything was so very easy!' said Peggy rather indignantly. 'Being anywhere near a bank always has that effect on me,' he apologised. 'Now, one on each side--and be careful,' Peggy implored as the cab stopped in Cadogan Square. 'If anything happened now----!' Her tongue and her imagination failed. 'If you've got any money, you'll leave it there,' Miles prophesied, pointing at the Fricker door. 'Shall I?' cried Peggy in joyous defiance, as she sprang from the cab. 'Mayn't we even sit in the hall?' wailed Arty. 'Wait outside,' she commanded, with friendly curtness. The door closed on her, the butler and footman showing her in with an air of satisfied expectancy. 'Who's to pay the cab?' exclaimed Arty, smitten with a sudden apprehension. 'Don't you remember being reviewed under the heading of "The Young Ravens"?' asked Miles, a little unkindly, but with a tranquil trust in the future. That answer might not have satisfied the cabman. It closed the question for Arty Kane. They linked arms and walked up and down the square, discussing Shakespeare's habit of indulging in soliloquy. 'Which is bad art, but good business,' Miles pronounced. Of course Arty differed. 'The study, if you please, miss,' said the butler to Peggy Ryle. She followed him across the fawn-coloured mat which had once proved itself to possess such detective qualities.