se after all he owned up? Pretended it
was their misunderstanding? He began to scheme devices for selling the
secret and circumventing Butteridge.

What should he ask for the thing? Somehow twenty thousand pounds struck
him as about the sum indicated.

He fell into that despondency that lies in wait in the small hours. He
had got too big a job on--too big a job....

Memories swamped his scheming.

"Where was I this time last night?"

He recapitulated his evenings tediously and lengthily. Last night he
had been up above the clouds in Butteridge's balloon. He thought of the
moment when he dropped through them and saw the cold twilight sea close
below. He still remembered that disagreeable incident with a nightmare
vividness. And the night before he and Grubb had been looking for cheap
lodgings at Littlestone in Kent. How remote that seemed now. It might be
years ago. For the first time he thought of his fellow Desert Dervish,
left with the two red-painted bicycles on Dymchurch sands. "'E won't
make much of a show of it, not without me. Any'ow 'e did 'ave the
treasury--such as it was--in his pocket!"... The night before that
was Bank Holiday night and they had sat discussing their minstrel
enterprise, drawing up a programme and rehearsing steps. And the
night before was Whit Sunday. "Lord!" cried Bert, "what a doing
that motor-bicycle give me!" He recalled the empty flapping of the
eviscerated cushion, the feeling of impotence as the flames rose again.
From among the confused memories of that tragic flare one little figure
emerged very bright and poignantly sweet, Edna, crying back reluctantly
from the departing motor-car, "See you to-morrer, Bert?"

Other memories of Edna clustered round that impression. They led Bert's
mind step by step to an agreeable state that found expression in "I'll
marry 'ER if she don't look out." And then in a flash it followed in his
mind that if he sold the Butteridge secret he could! Suppose after all
he did get twenty thousand pounds; such sums have been paid! With that
he could buy house and garden, buy new clothes beyond dreaming, buy a
motor, travel, have every delight of the civilised life as he knew it,
for himself and Edna. Of course, risks were involved. "I'll 'ave old
Butteridge on my track, I expect!"

He meditated upon that. He declined again to despondency. As yet he
was only in the beginning of the adventure. He had still to deliver the
goods and draw the cash. And before