Chilcote opened his lips, paused, then laughed in imitation of his companion; but the laugh sounded forced. “My dear fellow,” he said at last, “I never retract.” “Never?” “No.” “Then the bargain's sealed.” Loder walked slowly across the room, and, taking up his position by the mantel-piece, looked at his companion. The similarity between them as they faced each other seemed abnormal, defying even the closest scrutiny. And yet, so mysterious is Nature even in her lapses, they were subtly, indefinably different. Chilcote was Loder deprived of one essential: Loder, Chilcote with that essential bestowed. The difference lay neither in feature, in coloring, nor in height, but in that baffling, illusive inner illumination that some call individuality, and others soul. Something of this idea, misted and tangled by nervous imagination, crossed Chilcote's mind in that moment of scrutiny, but he shrank from it apprehensively. “I--I came to discuss details,” he said, quickly, crossing the space that divided him from his host. “Shall we--? Are you--?” He paused uneasily. “I'm entirely in your hands.” Loder spoke with abrupt decision. Moving to the table, he indicated a chair, and drew another forward for himself. Both men sat down. Chilcote leaned forward, resting elbows on the table. “There will be several things to consider--” he began, nervously, looking across at the other. “Quite so.” Loder glanced back appreciatively. “I thought about those things the better part of last night. To begin with, I must study your handwriting. I guarantee to get it right, but it will take a month.” “A month!” “Well, perhaps three weeks. We mustn't make a mess of things.” Chilcote shifted his position. “Three weeks!” he repeated. “Couldn't you--?” “No; I couldn't.” Loder spoke authoritatively. “I might never want to put pen to paper, but, on the other hand, I might have to sign a check one day.” He laughed. “Have you ever thought of that?--that I might have to, or want to, sign a check?” “No. I confess that escaped me.” “You risk your fortune that you, may keep the place it bought for you?” Loder laughed again. “How do you know that I am not a blackguard?” he added. “How do you know that I won't clear out one day and leave you high and dry? What is to prevent John Chilcote from realizing forty or fifty thousand pounds and then making himself scarce?” “You won't do that,” Chilcote said, with unusual decision. “I told you your weakness last night; and it wasn't money. Money isn't the rock you'll split over.” “Then you think I'll split upon some rock? But that's beyond the question. To get to business again. You'll risk my studying your signature?” Chilcote nodded. “Right! Now item two.” Loder counted on his: fingers. “I must know the names and faces of your men friends as far as I can. Your woman friends don't count. While I'm you, you will be adamant.” He laughed again pleasantly. “But the men are essential--the backbone of the whole business.”