It was announced that once upon a time he had financed an expedition to Central Africa, and if this were true, there was every reason for his presence at No. 1, Flair Lane, E.C. Other men had financed similar expeditions, had established themselves in similar offices, and, through the years, had waited for some return for the money they had spent. Such was a matter of history. Yet Lambaire had a business, and a very profitable business. He was known by his bankers to be a silver broker, by yet another banker to possess an interest in the firm of Flithenstein & Borris, a firm of printers; he had shares in a line of tramp steamers which had gained an unenviable reputation in shipping circles; he was interested, if truth be told, in a hundred and one affairs, small and large, legitimate or shady. He owned a horse or two; obliging horses that won when he backed them, and were at the wrong end of the course when he did not. Two days following the hasty departure of Amber, he was in his office. It was the luncheon hour, and he pulled on his gloves slowly. A smile lingered at the corners of his mouth, and there was a satisfied twinkle in his eye. His secretary stood expectantly by the desk, mechanically sorting a sheaf of notes. Mr. Lambaire walked slowly to the heavy door of his private room, then paused, with a show of irresolution. “Perhaps it would be better to write to-night,” he said dubiously. The secretary nodded, and depositing his papers on the desk, opened a note-book. “Perhaps it would,” said Lambaire, as though questioning himself. “Yes, it might as well be done to-night.” “Dear Sir” (he began, and the secretary scribbled furiously),--“Dear Sir, I have to acknowledge your letter _re_ Great Forest Diamond Mine. Full stop. I understand your--er--annoyance----” “Impatience?” suggested the secretary. “Impatience,” accepted the dictator, “but the work is going forward. Full stop. Regarding your offer to take up further shares, comma, I have to inform you that my Board are--are----” “Is,” corrected the secretary. “Is,” continued Mr. Lambaire, “prepared to allow you the privilege, subject to the approval of our----” “Its,” said the secretary. “Its brokers. Yours faithfully.” Lambaire lit a cigar. “How’s that?” he asked jovially. “Very good, sir,” said the secretary, rubbing his hands, “a good thing for the Board----” “For me,” said Mr. Lambaire, without embarrassment. “I said the _Board_,” said the pale-faced secretary, and chuckled at the subtlety of the humour. Something was pleasing Lambaire to-day, and the secretary took advantage of the spell of good humour. “About this letter; there have been all sorts of people here to-day,” he said suggestively, and Lambaire, once more on his way to the door, looked round sharply. “What the devil do you mean, Grene?” he demanded, all the joviality wiped from his face.