There is a type of shareholder who loves, and dearly loves a mystery. He lives in the clouds, thinking in millions. His high spirit despises the 2½ per cent. of safety. He dreams of fortunes to come in the night, of early morning intimations that shares which cost him 3_s._ 9_d._ have risen to £99 2_s._ 6_d._ He can work out in his head at a moment’s notice the profit accruing from the possession of a thousand such shares as these. It was from this class that Lambaire expected much, and he was not disappointed. The promise of the River of Stars was not explicit; there was a hint of risk--frankly set forth--a cunning suggestion of immense profit. “Rap-rap!” went the knocker of fifty thousand doors as the weighty prospectus dropped with a thud upon the suburban mat ... an interval of a day or so, and there began a trickle of reply which from day to day gathered force until it became a veritable stream. Lambaire, in his multifarious undertakings, had acquired addresses in very much the same way as small boys collect postage stamps. He collected addresses with discrimination. In one of the many books he kept--books which were never opened to any save himself, you might see page after page as closely written as his sprawling caligraphy allowed, the names of “possibles,” with some little comment on each victim. “In many ways, Lambaire,” said Whitey, “you’re a wonder!” The big man, to whom approval was as the breath of life, smiled complacently. They sat at lunch at the most expensive hotel in London, and through the open windows of the luxurious dining-room came the hum of Piccadilly’s traffic. “We’ve got a good proposition,” said Lambaire, and rubbed his hands comfortably, “a real good proposition. We’ve got all sorts of back doors out if the diamonds don’t turn up trumps--if I could only get those stones of Sutton’s out of my mind.” “Don’t start talking that all over again--you can be thankful that things turned out as they did. I saw that feller Amber yesterday.” With a return to civilization, Amber had receded to the background as a factor. They now held him in the good-natured contempt that the prosperous have for their less prosperous fellows. There was some excuse for their sudden arrogance. The first batch of prospectuses had produced an enormous return. Money had already begun to flow to the bankers of the “Stars.” “When this has settled down an’ the thing’s finished,” said Whitey, “I’m goin’ to settle down too, Lam! The crook line isn’t good enough.” They lingered over lunch discussing their plans. It was three o’clock in the afternoon when Lambaire paid the bill, and arm in arm with Whitey walked out into Piccadilly. They walked slowly along the crowded thoroughfare in the direction of Piccadilly Circus. There was a subject which Lambaire wished to broach. “By the way, Whitey,” he said, as they stood hesitating at the corner of the Haymarket, “do you remember a little memorandum we signed?” “Memorandum?”