"Yes, Benjamin. Yes, my son. We must certainly have some more of the rhino. Your expenses have been positively e-normous, e-normous," declared the old man, with uplifted hands and eyes. "Some of your drafts have brought tears into my eyes. Positively tears," he echoed mournfully. "Couldn't be helped, guv'nor. The thing had to be done." "And you have got it nearly all in order now, Benjamin, eh? You've got him under your thumb, eh? He can't escape?" "Not he! Mark my words, dad. The rope's already woven that'll go round his neck." The old man looked doubtful. "If he's such a learned, clever man as you say--writes books and such like--they'll never hang him, my son. They'll reprieve him. That's what they'll do." "I don't care a blooming fig which it is, so long as it comes off. Do you remember what I told you when Miss Thurwell first came here, dad?" "Perfectly, my son, perfectly. You said that our fortune was made. Those were your very words," he added, with glistening eyes. "Our fortune is made." "And what I said I'll stick to," Mr. Benjamin declared. "When this case comes off, it'll be the biggest thundering sensation of the day. And who'll get the credit of it all? Who tracked him down for all his false name and sly ways; hunted him all over Europe, found out who he really was, and why he hated Sir Geoffrey Kynaston so much that he murdered him? Why, I did, dad--Benjamin Levy, of Levy & Son, Carle Street, Strand. Ain't it glorious, guv'nor? Ain't it proud?" Mr. Benjamin's enthusiasm was catching. It was reflected in his father's face, and something glistened in his eyes. He removed his spectacles, and carefully wiped them. After all, he was a father, and he had a father's feelings. "When will the time come, Benjamin?" he inquired. "A month to-day, I hope," was the prompt reply. "I have one more journey to take, and it will be all square." "Where to? How far?" inquired the old gentleman uneasily. Mr. Benjamin looked at him, and shook his head. "Come, dad, I know what you are thinking of," he said. "It's the expense, ain't it?" "It is, Benjamin," his father groaned. "I hate parting with hard-earned money for exorbitant bills and these long journeys. Couldn't it be done without it, Ben?" he inquired, in a wheedling tone. "There's piles of money gone already in expenses. Piles and piles." "And if there is, ain't it Miss Thurwell's, you old stupid?" remarked Mr. Benjamin. "'Tain't likely that we should find the money ourselves." "Of course, of course. But, Benjamin, my son, the money is thrown away for all that. We could charge it, you know--charge it always. We must have a margin--we must positively have a margin to work with." "Dad, dad, what an old sinner you are!" exclaimed his hopeful son, leaning back in his chair and laughing. "A margin to work with. Ha! ha! ha!"