"So am I," said the other. "It seems hard luck on an innocent old man like that to be left to carry the baby. He apparently placed such reliance on your judgment, Mr. Ferguson. Moreover, I gather you dined with him two or three times." "Well, what if I did?" He leaned back in his chair impatiently. "Might I suggest that time is money to some of us, and that I’m rather busy this morning? I’d be obliged if you’d get to the point." "Certainly," said Hewson, quietly. "I have a nice little bunch of two thousand five hundred Rio Lopez which I shall be delighted to sell you, on behalf of Mr. Crossley—at two pounds a share." For a moment or two Mr. Ferguson seemed to have difficulty in breathing. "Buy Rio Lopez at two!" he gasped. "Are you insane?" "Not at all," murmured Hewson, lighting a cigarette. "That is my offer." "Good-morning," laughed the other. "You know the way out, don’t you? And another time, my dear sir, you’d better learn a little more about the ways of finance before you waste your own and other people’s time coming up from the wilds of Devon." He pulled a paper towards him and picked up his pen. It struck him as one of the richest things he’d ever heard—a jest altogether after his own heart. And it was just as the full beauty of it was sinking in, that his eye caught the card which his visitor had pushed along the writing-desk. "Mr. Charles Hewson." Blinking slightly he stared at it, then he put down his pen. "Mr. Charles Hewson." "You may know the name, Mr. Ferguson," remarked the other, quietly. "And I can assure you that your solicitude for my knowledge of finance touches me deeply." "But, I don’t understand, Mr. Hewson. I had no idea who you were, but now that I do know it makes your suggestion even more amazing." "In an ordinary way of business, certainly," agreed Hewson. "This is not quite ordinary. Without mincing words, I consider that you played Mr. Crossley an extremely dirty trick—considering that he’d opened his house to you, and was quite obviously as ignorant of business as a child. Why—the poor old chap saw the price in the paper the other day and thought they were standing at four pounds three shillings." He was staring at Ferguson with level eyes as he spoke. "I give you the chance of returning him the money he gave to you. If you do—the matter is ended. If you don’t—I shall pay it myself. But—and this is the point, Mr. Ferguson, which you had better consider—if I pay that money, I shall recover it from you. Is it worth your while to have me for an enemy? As surely as I’m sitting here, by the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll not have lost five thousand—you’ll have lost fifty." "It wouldn’t be worth your while," blustered Ferguson, though the hand which held his cigar shook a little.