They wrangled foolishly for a while. At last Billiter, who had remained silent, brought his fist down, with a bang, on the table. “I’ve got an idea,” said he. “Have you any particular woman in view?” “Lord, no,” said Huckaby. “I can put you on to one,” said Billiter. “No need to go abroad. She’s here in London.” Huckaby called him uncomplimentary names. The Continental trip, as far as he was concerned, was the essence of the suggestion; the capture of the wild goose a remote consideration. “Besides, old man,” said he, “this is my show.” Billiter looked glum. After all, the idea was of no great value. Vandermeer’s cunning brain began to work. He asked Billiter for a description of the lady. “She’s the widow of an old pal of mine,” replied Billiter. “Lady and all that sort of thing. Her husband, poor old chap, came to grief—Dragoon Guards—in the running for a title—went it too hot, you know—died leaving her with nothing at all. She has pulled through, somehow—lives in devilish good style, dresses expensively, and has the cleverness to hang on to her social position. Damned nice woman—but as for her heart, you could go at it with a pickaxe without risk of breaking it. I thought she would just suit the case.” “Where does the money come from to live in good style and dress expensively?” asked Huckaby. “Billiter thinks it might just as well come from Quixtus as from any one else. Don’t you, Billiter?” Billiter nodded sagaciously and gulped down some whisky and water. “And then we’d all stand in,” cried Vandermeer. “That may be all very well in its way,” said Huckaby, “but I’m not going to give up my one chance of getting abroad.” “Go abroad then,” retorted Vandermeer. “If the lady is of the kind I take her to be, she won’t mind crossing the Channel when she knows there’s a golden feathered coot in Boulogne just dying to moult in her hand.” “You are crude and vulgar in your ideas, Van,” said Huckaby. “Gentlemen of Quixtus’s position no more go to Boulogne for a holiday than they frequent Ramsgate boarding-houses. And they don’t give large sums of money to expensively dressed ladies with conjecturable means of support.” “He’s such a fool that he would never guess anything,” argued Vandermeer. “Hold on,” said Billiter, “you’re on the wrong tack altogether. I told you she was a lady.” His manner changed subtly, the moribund instinct of birth crackling suddening into a tiny flame. “I don’t know if you two quite realise what that means, but to Quixtus it would mean everything.” “I’m a sometime Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge——” began Huckaby, ruffled. “Then you must have met a lady connected with somebody in your damned Academy,” said Billiter, who had been sent down from Oxford. “The University of Cambridge isn’t an Academy,” said Huckaby, waxing quarrelsome. “And a woman who subsists on gifts from her gentlemen friends can’t be a real lady,” said Vandermeer. “Oh go to blazes, both of you!” cried Billiter, angrily.