“Have we got that down, old horse?” asked Ukridge, gently. Teddy Weeks seemed surprised. “Aren’t you reporters?” “How do you mean, reporters?” “I thought you had come from one of these weekly papers that have been paying me insurance money, to interview me,” said Teddy Weeks. Ukridge and I exchanged another glance. An uneasy glance this time. I think that already a grim foreboding had begun to cast its shadow over us. “Surely you remember me, Teddy, old horse?” said Ukridge, anxiously. Teddy Weeks knit his brow, concentrating painfully. “Why, of course,” he said at last. “You’re Ukridge, aren’t you?” “That’s right. Ukridge.” “Of course. Ukridge.” “Yes. Ukridge. Funny your forgetting me!” “Yes,” said Teddy Weeks. “It’s the effect of the shock I got when that thing bowled me over. I must have been struck on the head, I suppose. It has had the effect of rendering my memory rather uncertain. The doctors here are very interested. They say it is a most unusual case. I can remember some things perfectly, but in some ways my memory is a complete blank.” “Oh, but I say, old horse,” quavered Ukridge. “I suppose you haven’t forgotten about that insurance, have you?” “Oh, no, I remember that.” Ukridge breathed a relieved sigh. “I was a subscriber to a number of weekly papers,” went on Teddy Weeks. “They are paying me insurance money now.” “Yes, yes, old horse,” cried Ukridge. “But what I mean is you remember the Syndicate, don’t you?” Teddy Weeks raised his eyebrows. “Syndicate? What Syndicate?” “Why, when we all got together and put up the money to pay for the subscriptions to these papers and drew lots, to choose which of us should go out and have an accident and collect the money. And you drew it, don’t you remember?” Utter astonishment, and a shocked astonishment at that, spread itself over Teddy Weeks’s countenance. The man seemed outraged. “I certainly remember nothing of the kind,” he said, severely. “I cannot imagine myself for a moment consenting to become a party to what from your own account would appear to have been a criminal conspiracy to obtain money under false pretences from a number of weekly papers.” “But, laddie——” “However,” said Teddy Weeks, “if there is any truth in this story, no doubt you have documentary evidence to support it.” Ukridge looked at me. I looked at Ukridge. There was a long silence. “Shift-ho, old horse?” said Ukridge, sadly. “No use staying on here.” “No,” I replied, with equal gloom. “May as well go.” “Glad to have seen you,” said Teddy Weeks, “and thanks for the fruit.” The next time I saw the man he was coming out of a manager’s office in the Haymarket. He had on a new Homburg hat of a delicate pearl grey, spats to match, and a new blue flannel suit, beautifully cut, with an invisible red twill. He was looking jubilant, and; as I passed him, he drew from his pocket a gold cigarette-case.