"It's a large if," suggested Mr. Miller, politely. Landon made no retort. His face had assumed a meditative mask; his lips were firmly pressed together; he had the effect of one who calculates pro against con. "That's why I think it's time I took a hand," he said suddenly. "We'll knock off three of your six, Miller. I am prepared to be a host in myself." For the moment the other said nothing. They had swung out of the Waterport Street and turned the sharp corner which brought them to the entrance of the hotel. He listened quietly as his companion demanded the number of the room engaged for him, received his letters, and entered the lift. He accompanied him silently. It was not till they were left alone that he pulled a pocket-book out, tranquilly turned the leaves, and consulted an entry. "I note that I have had no remittance from you, Lord Landon," he announced, "since November." "Six weeks ago," agreed Landon, languidly. "Six times twenty is a hundred and twenty. You reinforce my argument, my good Miller. A hundred and twenty pounds gone and you show me--nothing." The other coughed a dry, perfunctory little cough. "As far as I am concerned, the money is, as you say, gone," he allowed, "but you have just come by one hundred and sixty sovereigns owing to the complacence of these Southern gentlemen on board your boat. That puts us right and safeguards another fortnight." Landon nodded and answered in a voice as dry as his own. "That is a matter for discussion," he intimated. "I should like to hear these expenses justified to some appreciable extent. What was the chance which failed?" "Though it failed," rejoined Miller, "it proved the advantage of constant vigilance. The child separated himself from his guardians in the very midst of the late afternoon traffic and got into the hands of one of our men. They reached the pier together; they were within an ace of success. Then Fate interfered--it must have been Fate," he interpolated with the ghost of a grin--"because her instrument was of your own house." Landon came to a sudden halt in the opening of an envelope. "What's that?" he cried quickly. "A relation of mine?" "Captain John Aylmer, R.A., Assistant Secretary to the new Military Works Commission," answered Miller, sedately. Landon swore. Then suddenly he began to laugh. "It's quaint," he conceded. "It's damned quaint, Miller. And he did--what?" Miller shrugged his shoulders. "Interested himself in the situation, caused a delay which was fatal, for the moment, to our success. He cross-questioned the child and our man had to save himself, alone." Landon laughed again. "And he knew, this cousin of mine? He knew whose child it was?" "Not then, but now, I imagine. He has met him since, at the Tent Club. He has also met your late father-in-law." "What? The Kite--old Jacob--he's there?"