asters was contentedly
sipping his brandy and water.

"I was acting for my client, and in my own interests," replied Peter.
"It was surely no part of my duty to save you gentlemen at Scotland Yard
from hunting up mare's nests!"

John Dory went out, followed by his men. Sir Richard took Peter Ruff by
the arm, and, leading him to the sideboard, mixed him a drink.

"Peter Ruff," he said, "you're a clever scoundrel, but you've earned
your five hundred guineas. Hang it, you're welcome to them! Is there
anything else I can do for you?"

Peter Ruff raised his glass and set it down again. Once more he eyed
with admiration his client's well-turned out figure.

"You might give me a letter to your tailors, Sir Richard," he begged.

Sir Richard laughed outright--it was some time since he had laughed!

"You shall have it, Peter Ruff," he declared, raising his glass--"and
here's to you!"

CHAPTER III. VINCENT CAWDOR, COMMISSION AGENT

For the second time since their new association, Peter Ruff had
surprised that look upon his secretary's face. This time he wheeled
around in his chair and addressed her.

"My dear Violet," he said, "be frank with me. What is wrong?"

Miss Brown turned to face her employer. Save for a greater demureness
of expression and the extreme simplicity of her attire, she had changed
very little since she had given up her life of comparative luxury to
become Peter Ruff's secretary. There was a sort of personal elegance
which clung to her, notwithstanding her strenuous attempts to dress for
her part, except for which she looked precisely as a private secretary
and typist should look. She even wore a black bow at the back of her
hair.

"I have not complained, have I?" she asked.

"Do not waste time," Peter Ruff said, coldly. "Proceed."

"I have not enough to do," she said. "I do not understand why you refuse
so many cases."

Peter Ruff nodded.

"I did not bring my talents into this business," he said, "to watch
flirting wives, to ascertain the haunts of gay husbands, or to detect
the pilferings of servants."

"Anything is better than sitting still," she protested.

"I do not agree with you," Peter Ruff said. "I like sitting still very
much indeed--one has time to think. Is there anything else?"

"Shall I really go on?" she asked.

"By all means," he answered.

"I have idea," she continued, "that you are subordinating your general
interests to your secret enmity--to one man. You are