"That's it--Phoenix. And when it's going to die it lights a fire and sits down upon it and another springs up from the ashes." "But I don't see how that applies to the Major." "No-o?" queried Miss Marty, dubiously. "Well, not in every particular; but the point is, there's only one at a time." "The same might be said," urged the Doctor, delicately, "of other individual members of the Town Council; with qualifications, of course." "And somehow I feel--I can't help a foreboding--that if ever we lose him it will be in some such way." "Miss Marty!" The Doctor stood up, with horror-stricken face. "There, now! You may call me fanciful, but I can't help it. And you've spilled the Fra Angelico! Let me pour you out another glassful." "We must all die," answered the Doctor inconsequently, not yet master of himself. "Except a few Bible characters," said Miss Marty, filling his glass. "But what the town would do without _him_ I can't think. In a sense he _is_ the town." A moment before the Doctor had all but denied it; but now, overcome by the thought of a world without the Major, he hid his face. For a moment, if but in thought, he had been disloyal to his friend, his hero! Miss Marty said afterwards that, although not accustomed to prophesy and humbly aware that it was out of her line, she must have spoken under inspiration. She was wont also, when she recalled her forebodings and the events that followed and so signally fulfilled them, to regret that when the Guernsey merchant took his leave, an hour later, she omitted to take note of his boots; it being an article of faith with her that, in his traffic with mortals, the Prince of Darkness could not help betraying himself by his cloven hoof. In the garden meanwhile the Major and his guest were making very good weather of it, as we say in Troy; the one with his Madeira, the other with the brown sherry. I leave the reader to discern the gist of their talk from its technicalities. "Three gross of ankers, you say?" queried the Major. "At four gallons the anker, and six francs the gallon." "It is a large venture." "And, for that reason, dirt cheap. To my knowledge there is not a firm in Guernsey at this moment doing trade at less than seven francs the gallon in parcels under five hundred gallons." "Yes, yes." The Major lit his pipe and puffed meditatively. "I am not denying that. Only, you see, on our side these large operations rather heighten the expense than diminish it, while they heighten the risk enormously." "I do not see." M. Dupin crossed his legs and awaited an explanation. "It is simple. So many more tubs, so many more carriers; so many more carriers, so much the more risk of including an informer. One hundred carriers, say, I can lay hands on, knowing them all for tried men. Beyond that number I rely on recommendations, often carelessly given. The risk is more than trebled. And then, the fact of my being Mayor--" "I should have thought it lessened the risk."