"It's his will. He's left the bulk of his fortune to nephews and other distant relatives. Mrs. Gertstein is to get two thousand pounds a year, and a similar sum has been left to you. The will was made a few days before his death. So in a way you're an heiress, you see. And I'm only a chief detective inspector getting a few hundreds a year." She smiled and put her arms round his neck. "That all. Then I'll tell you what we'll do. As soon as this case is over we'll get married--ever so quietly--and you shall retire and play golf all day long if you want to." "I won't deny the first part of that proposition," he said. "On the other I'm afraid I can't agree. I'm going on with my job. I'm not going to live on my wife." She kissed him. "Do you know that in some ways you're delightfully early Victorian? But I love you for it. Go on being a policeman until you are a thousand if you like." "I'm afraid that they won't stand me that long," he reflected, with half-whimsical seriousness. "They were finding me out before this case began. I suppose I am an indolent man. It's a notorious fact. I hate to be bored. When I joined the service I had funny ideas about detectives, I thought of the excitement and not of the monotony. Now action stirs me up. There's not a deal of fun in finding out a man who has pilfered a hundredweight of coals out of a station yard, nor in sifting and making out dry official papers day after day. That sends me into a kind of stupor and my brain will not act. They'll certainly find out that I'm a four-flusher one of these days." "I think Mr. Winter knows more about you than you do yourself," she protested. "Yes. Winter's a downy bird. He knows that I've got a conscience. It really used to hurt me to play golf sometimes," he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and his face turned a bright scarlet. "Say, dear----" "Well?" "Do you know I've forgotten--that is I haven't had time--I mean I meant to--perhaps you've been wondering--well it comes to this----" He made a desperate plunge. "The long and short of it is that I've been meaning to get you a ring and--and----" Her clear laughter rang through the room. "You've been too lazy to get it." "Not exactly that," he protested. She shook her head reprovingly. "Don't stumble any more. You'll only get in deeper. Have you any money on you?" He displayed a well-filled wallet. "That's all right. Stay right where you are. I'm going to put on my things, and we're going out now, immediately. You're not going to escape me, Harry Labar. I'm taking no risks. You buy me an engagement ring in this next half hour and I'm going to stand over you and see that you do it." Thus Labar's betrothal was ratified. In spite of his gibes at himself he settled down to his new job at Scotland Yard with some prospect of success, partly because Winter had his eye on him, partly because the work that came his way was of a congenial type.