he matter, I
hope?"

"Nothing worth mentioning," Laverick replied.

The cashier returned to his duties. The two men were alone.
Bellamy, most carefully dressed, with his silver-headed cane under
his arm, and his silk hat at precisely the correct angle, seemed
very far removed from the work of intrigue into which Laverick
felt himself to have blundered. He looked down for a moment at the
tips of his patent shoes and up again at the sky, as though anxious
about the weather.

"What about a drink, Laverick?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Delighted!" Laverick assented.

CHAPTER XXXI

MISS LENEVEU'S MESSAGE

The two men stepped back into the hotel. The cashier had returned
to his desk, and the incident which had just transpired seemed to
have passed unnoticed. Nevertheless, Laverick felt that the studied
indifference of his companion's manner had its significance, and he
endeavored to imitate it.

"Shall we go through into the bar?" he asked. "There's very seldom
any one there at this time."

"Anywhere you say," Bellamy answered. "It's years since we had a
drink together."

They passed into the inner room and, finding it empty, drew two
chairs into the further corner. Bellamy summoned the waiter.

"Two whiskies and sodas quick, Tim," he ordered. "Now, Laverick,
listen to me," he added, as the waiter turned away. "We are alone
for the moment but it won't be for long. You know very well that
it wasn't to renew our schoolboy acquaintance that I've asked you
to come in here with me."

Laverick drew a little breath.

"Please go on," he said. "I am as anxious as you can be to grasp
this affair properly."

"When we left school," Bellamy remarked, "you were destined for
the Stock Exchange. I went first to Magdalen. Did you ever hear
what became of me afterwards?"

"I always understood," Laverick answered, "that you went into one
of the Government offices."

"Quite right," Bellamy assented. "I did. At this moment I have
the honor to serve His Majesty."

"Two thousand a year and two hours work a day," Laverick laughed.
"I know the sort of thing."

"You evidently don't," Bellamy answered. "I often work twenty
hours a day, I don't get half two thousand a year, and most of
the time I carry my life in my hands. When I am working--and I
am working now--I am never sure of the morrow."

Laverick looked at him incredulously.

"You're not joking, Bellamy?" he asked.

"Not by any manner of mean