“But you will lose no time in seekink det noo secretary?” “Certainly not. My brother will help me in the matter. There was a young fellow hanging about at Llandiarmid the last time I was there who would suit me well enough, but I daresay he has found something better to do by this time.” “Farewell den, my frient. You may depend on me to keep you well posted in all de mofements off de enemy. I hef efery confidence in you, but I entreat you not to spare expense.” Cyril smiled as he succeeded in making his escape. It would have been a standing marvel to him, had he been inclined to waste time in theorising on the weaknesses of human nature instead of profiting by them, that the great financier, whose name ensured respect throughout the civilised world, should repose this absolute and deferential confidence in an unsuccessful statesman, whose sole political capital was now his vast experience, and a certain strength of head, combined with coldness of heart, which had much advantaged him in the past. But Cyril was one who took things as he found them, and made prompt use of them; and the doglike fidelity with which the Chevalier Goldberg clung to his fallen fortunes struck him merely as a very serviceable fact, which, though it might be strange, was by no means to be neglected. CHAPTER II. FIRING THE FIRST SHOT. Returning to his hotel, Cyril found a letter awaiting him in the handwriting of his brother, Lord Caerleon. “What’s up?” he said to himself, as he opened the envelope and drew out the closely written sheets. “Something must be wrong for Caerleon to favour me with such an imposing epistle. Probably some kind mischief-maker on this side of the Channel has told him that I have given myself over body and soul to the Jews, and he is trying to avert the catastrophe. It would save time to burn the letter and wire to him that the deed is done, but that might hurt his feelings, so here goes!” He lit a cigar and sat down with the air of a martyr to read the letter, but his brow cleared when he found that it contained none of the anxious entreaties he had expected. His brother needed his help, it seemed, and the occasion of the request was curiously connected with the subject of his conversation with the Chevalier Goldberg.