Now with regard to your questions. The only thing that seems pretty certain about the future here is that there's going to be a Hell of a dust up before long. It's an open secret that the Royalists are plotting all over the place, and that they've got a good part of the officers in the army with them. Down in the south, however, there seems to be a strong party that's in favour of the other branch--the descendants of that drunken scoundrel Don Francisco--whoever they happen to be. Personally I can't say I take much interest in any of them. Apart from my garage, I think the best thing for Europe would be if the whole damn lot cut each other's throats. I except the old President, who is not half a bad sort--and has a very pretty taste in cigars and champagne. He is all right, however, because I know he has a good parcel tucked away somewhere, and means to do a bunk directly things get too hot. If I were you I should tell your young and beautiful friend to give up taking an interest in Livadian politics and start keeping rattlesnakes. It's a much more healthy and profitable hobby. I have had one stroke of luck. I have managed to palm off my business here on a local syndicate for a couple of thou., and am now employed as Managing Director at £500 a year and commission. "Commission" in Portriga means whatever you can cheat out of the customers or steal from your employers. So far I am doing nicely at both, thank you, but I don't expect it will last long. Another revolution of course would bust us up altogether, because the first thing that would happen would be that both sides would come down and snaffle our cars. So I am just making an honest living while the sun shines, and leaving the rest to Prov. You are three sorts of a brick to think out that job in Piccadilly, but as it stands it's rather too one-sided an arrangement. I couldn't take it unless I was in a position to shove in a little of my own money too. Practically all I've got at present would have to go to my dear creditors, who have been so patient and long-suffering--I don't think!--God bless 'em. If you will keep it open for say, another year--by which time I ought to have swindled the Garage Anglais out of quite a decent sum--I shall be only too delighted to come back and wipe the floor with you at billiards as often as you like. Your notion that you can beat me is one of the most pathetic instances of monomania I ever came across. Remember me to Guy, who I suppose is as frivolous as ever, and give my love to any of the old crowd who are still knocking around. Yours ever, JIMMY. Given from our place of hiding this third day of the fifth month in the second year of our exile. Tony read this letter through and then tossed it across to Guy, who perused it in turn between mouthfuls of egg and bacon. "His troubles don't seem to have sobered him down at all," he observed rather disapprovingly.