'You despise amateurs, Nesta, but, for all that, it seems that your professionals who kidnap as a matter of course and all the rest of it have not been a bit more successful. It was not my want of experience that made me fail. It was my sex. This is man's work. If I had been a man, I should at least have had brute force to fall back upon when Mr Mennick arrived.' Mrs Ford nodded. 'Yes, but--' 'And,' continued Cynthia, 'as all these Smooth Sam Fishers of yours have failed too, it is obvious that the only way to kidnap Ogden is from within. We must have some man working for us in the enemy's camp.' 'Which is impossible,' said Mrs Ford dejectedly. 'Not at all.' 'You know a man?' 'I know _the_ man.' 'Cynthia! What do you mean? Who is he?' 'His name is Peter Burns.' Mrs Ford shook her head. 'I don't know him.' 'I'll introduce you. You'll like him.' 'But, Cynthia, how do you know he would be willing to help us?' 'He would do it for me,' Cynthia paused. 'You see,' she went on, 'we are engaged to be married.' 'My dear Cynthia! Why did you not tell me? When did it happen?' 'Last night at the Fletchers' dance.' Mrs Ford's eyes opened. 'Last night! Were you at a dance last night? And two railway journeys today! You must be tired to death.' 'Oh, I'm all right, thanks. I suppose I shall be a wreck and not fit to be seen tomorrow, but just at present I feel as if nothing could tire me. It's the effect of being engaged, perhaps.' 'Tell me about him.' 'Well, he's rich, and good-looking, and amiable'--Cynthia ticked off these qualities on her fingers--'and I think he's brave, and he's certainly not so stupid as Mr Broster.' 'And you're very much in love with him?' 'I like him. There's no harm in Peter.' 'You certainly aren't wildly enthusiastic!' 'Oh, we shall hit it off quite well together. I needn't pose to _you_, Nesta, thank goodness! That's one reason why I'm fond of you. You know how I am situated. I've got to marry some one rich, and Peter's quite the nicest rich man I've ever met. He's really wonderfully unselfish. I can't understand it. With his money, you would expect him to be a perfect horror.' A thought seemed to strike Mrs Ford. 'But, if he's so rich--' she began. 'I forget what I was going to say,' she broke off. 'Dear Nesta, I know what you were going to say. If he's so rich, why should he be marrying me, when he could take his pick of half London? Well, I'll tell you. He's marrying me for one reason, because he's sorry for me: for another, because I had the sense to make him. He didn't think he was going to marry anyone. A few years ago he had a disappointment. A girl jilted him. She must have been a fool. He thought he was going to live the rest of his life alone with his broken heart. I didn't mean to allow that. It's taken a long time--over two years, from start to finish--but I've done it. He's a sentimentalist. I worked on his sympathy, and last night I made him propose to me at the Fletchers' dance.'