chill into one's heart. One huge aperture looked out upon the
open sea, sloping down towards it. The other, much narrower, commanded
a view of the house. There was nothing else to discover. He counted
his cigarettes and found sixteen, with an ample supply of matches. He
lit one, and, taking off his coat for a seat, sat upon the floor and
leaned back against the wall.

In about two hours and a half the house began to show some signs of
life. In about three hours, Jacob's heart gave a little jump as he saw
Lady Mary scramble down the little piece of shelving beach and examine
the rope by which the boat was secured. She lifted one of the oars,
which was still wet, and then without hesitation turned and hurried
back to the house. In less than half an hour, he saw her mounted on a
rough but useful-looking pony, cantering down the drive. Somehow or
other, she seemed to him, even at that moment, like a messenger of
hope. An hour later, Montague and Hartwell came strolling down,
smoking huge cigars. The latter unfastened the rope and paddled
clumsily across. A few minutes later, Jacob heard the turning of the
keys in the lock of the outer door and their footsteps ascending the
stairs. Montague peered in through the bars. A little cloud of tobacco
smoke blew into the place.

"Well, Jacob, my Napoleon of finance, how goes it?" he enquired
lightly.

"If you'll step inside for two minutes, I'll show you," Jacob
answered.

Mr. Dane Montague chuckled.

"I have never graduated in the fistic arts myself," he confessed.
"Besides, once bit, twice shy, you know. We are going to put this
little thing through without any unnecessary risk."

"What is it?" Jacob demanded. "Money?"

"Money comes in all right," Hartwell muttered from behind, in an evil
tone, "but I guess there's something more than that coming to you
before you quit, Pratt."

"Why don't you come in and give it me, then?" Jacob asked. "You're a
bigger man than I am, by a long way."

"We're going to wait a bit," Hartwell retorted with a chuckle. "You've
been living a little high, Jacob Pratt. We think your system wants
lowering."

"You're not talking business yet, then?"

"Not just yet, my dear friend," Montague interposed. "It seems a shame
to have taken a dislike to so amiable a gentleman, but the fact
remains that we do not like you, Joe Hartwell and I. Once or twice you
have been too clever for us. We want to linger over the time when we
are just a little too