“Fine,” he said, with conviction. “Put it with my pyjamas, I’ll read myself to sleep with it”--he spoke a little absently, for his mind was elsewhere. It was a relief to him when Peter left him to “shop.” Shopping was the one joy of Peter’s life, and usually entailed a very careful rehearsal. “A penn’oth of canary seed, a quarter of tea, two of sugar, four bundles of wood, a pint of paraffin, tell the greengrocer to send me half a hundred of coal, eggs, bit of bacon--you didn’t like the bacon this morning, did you, Amber?--some kippers, a chop--how will a chop suit you?--and a pound of new potatoes; I think that’s all.” Leaning out of the window, Amber saw him disappearing up the court, his big rush bag gripped tightly in his hand, his aged top-hat tilted to the back of his head. Amber waited until he was out of sight, then made his way to his bedroom and commenced to change his clothes. A quarter of an hour later he was on his way to Warwick Gardens. The maid who answered his knock told him that her mistress was engaged, but showed him into a little study. “Take her a note,” said Amber, and scribbled a message in his pocket-book, tearing out the leaf. When the twisted slip of paper came to her, Cynthia was engaged in a fruitless, and, so far as Lambaire was concerned, a profitless discussion on her brother’s projected expedition. She opened the note and coloured. “Yes,” she said with a nod to the maid, and crumpled the note in her hand. “I hardly think it is worth while continuing this discussion,” she said; “it is not a question of my approval or disapproval: if my brother elects to take the risk, he will go, whatever my opinions are on the subject.” “But, my dear young lady,” said Lambaire eagerly, “you are wrong; it isn’t only the chart which you have placed at our disposal----” “At my brother’s,” she corrected. “It isn’t only that,” he went on, “it’s the knowledge that you are in sympathy with our great project: it means a lot to us, ye know, Miss Cynthia----” “Miss Sutton,” she corrected again. “It means more than you can imagine; I’ve made a clean breast of my position. On the strength of your father’s statement about this mine, I floated a company; I spent a lot of money on the expedition. I sent him out to Africa with one of the best caravans that have been got together--and now the shareholders are bothering me. ‘Where’s that mine of yours?’ they say. Why”--his voice sank to an impressive whisper--“they talk of prosecuting me, don’t they, Whitey?” “They do indeed,” said his responsive companion truthfully. “So it was a case of fair means or foul,” he went on. “I had to get the plan, and you wouldn’t give it me. I couldn’t burgle your house for it, could I?” He smiled pleasantly at the absurdity of taking such a course, and she looked at him curiously. “It is strange that you should say that,” she replied slowly, “for remarkably enough this house was burgled twice after my refusal to part with the little map.”