He would have to secure the services of a typist and a typewriter: that could be arranged later on. He placed them aside and opened a newspaper. He was accustomed enough now to his situation to be able to take an interest in the news of the day. At any moment his environment might split to admit of a new Voles or Spicer, or perhaps some more dangerous spectre engendered from the dubious past of Rochester; but he scarcely thought of this, he had gone beyond fear, he was up to the neck in the business. He glanced at the news of the day, reading as he ate. Then he pushed the paper aside. The thought had just occurred to him that Rochester had paid that eight thousand not to shield a woman's name but to shield his own. To prevent that gibberish being read out against him in court. This thought dimmed what had seemed a brighter side of Rochester, that obscure thing which Jones was condemned to unveil little by little and bit by bit. He pushed his plate away, and at this moment Mr. Church entered the breakfast room. He came to the table and, speaking in half lowered voice said: "Lady Plinlimon to see you, your Lordship." "Lady Plinlimon?" "Yes, your Lordship. I have shown her into the smoking room." Jones had finished breakfast. He rose from the table, gathered the letters together, and with them in his hand followed Church from the breakfast room to the smoking room. A big woman in a big hat was seated in the arm chair facing the door. She was forty if an hour. She had a large unpleasant face. A dominating face, fat featured, selfish, and made up by art. "Oh, here you are," said she as he entered and closed the door. "You see I'm out early." Jones nodded, went to the cigarette box, took a cigarette and lit it. The woman got up and did likewise. She blew the cigarette smoke through her nostrils, and Jones, as he watched, knew that he detested her. Then she sat down again. She seemed nervous. "Is it true what I hear, that your sister has left you and gone to live with your mother?" "Yes," said Jones, remembering the bird woman of yesterday morning. "Well, you'll have some peace now, unless you let her back--but I haven't come to talk of her. It's just this, I'm in a tight place." "Oh!" "A very tight place. I've got to have some money--I've got to have it to-day." "Oh!" "Yes. I ought to have had it yesterday, but a deal I had on fell through. You've got to help me, Arthur." "How much do you want?" "Fifteen hundred. I'll pay it back soon." "Fifteen hundred pounds?" "Yes, of course." A great white light, cold and clear as the dawn of Truth, began to steal across the mind of Jones. Why had this woman come to him this morning so quickly after the defeat of Voles who held her letters? How had Voles obtained those letters? This question had occurred to him before, and this question seemed to his practical mind pregnant now with possibilities. "What do you want the money for?" asked he.