"It's a wonderful chance," admitted Mark thoughtfully. "Carter may be a little queer, but there's no doubt that he's the greatest man at his game in the world." He looked across rather wistfully into the strong, smiling face opposite him. "You're a fortunate young devil, Colin," he added. "Nature's presented you with practically everything a man can want--brains, good looks, and the strength of a cart-horse--and now I'm hanged if you're not going to be lucky as well. I'd have given my head for an opening like this when I was your age. Just fancy being able to devote one's life to science instead of wasting it in the futile way I've done." "You're talking through your hat," protested Colin indignantly. "If you chose you could be sitting in an armchair in Harley Street, but instead of that you and Mary live down there in Shadwell and sweat your souls out amongst the poorest of the poor. Don't you call that good work?" "Splendid," agreed Mark. "Stuffing 'em up with coloured water and ginger pills and making fifteen hundred a year out of the poor blighters for doing it." He smiled with a cheerful good nature that was rather out of keeping with his words. "I'm not envious, Colin. I'm only too delighted to know that you've found the right opening. Two or three years' experience with Carter will be simply invaluable to you. It will put you in the very front rank of investigators, and what's more, it will give you the opportunity of carrying on his work after he's dead. You'll be a great man before you've finished. When I'm an old buffer of eighty I shall probably go around bragging that the famous Sir Colin Gray was once my junior house surgeon at Bart's." "Always supposing," added the future celebrity, "that I'm not knocked on the head by a burglar." He rolled up a bread pill and eyed his host meditatively. "It's a rummy affair, the whole business," he continued. "I wonder if there's anything behind it? D'you think Carter's just got the wind up, or d'you think he's one of those old juggins who keeps thousands of pounds buried in the back cellar?" Mark shrugged his shoulders. "Goodness knows," he replied. "Anyhow, he ought to be safe enough with you. If I were a self-respecting burglar with a proper regard for my appearance I should give the Red Lodge a devilish wide berth. I know that right upper-cut of yours; I've had some of it." The appearance of the grouse at this point created a temporary diversion, and it was not until lunch was finished, and the two of them were sitting over their coffee and cigars, that Mark returned to his original subject. "You won't forget, will you," he said, "if you run across a likely damsel. I shall be absolutely in the soup unless I get hold of somebody the next day or two."