r a lawyer in Sydney; and there'll have to be
enquiries about the lost 'draft' (as he calls a cheque) and a letter or
maybe a cable home to England; and it might take weeks."

"Yes," said Smith, hesitatingly. "That all sounds right enough.
But"--with an inspiration--"why don't he go to one of these big-bug
boomsters he knows--that he got letters of introduction to--and get him
to fix him up?"

"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Steelman, hopelessly. "Listen to him! Can't you
see that they're the last men he wants to let into his game? Why, he
wants to use THEM! They're the mugs as far as he is concerned!"

"Oh--I see!" said Smith, after hesitating, and rather slowly--as if he
hadn't quite finished seeing yet.

Steelman glanced furtively at the fern-screen, and nudged Smith again.

"He said if he had three hundred, he'd double it by Saturday?"

"That's what he said," replied Steelman, seeming by his tone to be
losing interest in the conversation.

"And... well, if he had a hundred he could double that, I suppose."

"Yes. What are you driving at now?"

"If he had twenty----"

"Oh, God! I'm sick of you, Smith. What the----!"

"Hold on. Let me finish. I was only going to say that I'm willing to put
up a fiver, and you put up another fiver, and if he doubles that for us
then we can talk about standing in with him with a hundred--provided he
can show his hundred."

After some snarling Steelman said: "Well, I'll try him! Now are you
satisfied?"...

"He's moved off now," he added in a whisper; "but stay here and talk a
bit longer."

Passing through the hall they saw Gentleman Sharper standing carelessly
by the door of the private bar. He jerked his head in the direction of
drinks. Steelman accepted the invitation--Smith passed on. Steelman took
the opportunity to whisper to the Sharper--"I've been talking that over
with my mate, and----"

"Come for a stroll," suggested the professional.

"I don't mind," said Steelman.

"Have a cigar?" and they passed out.

When they returned Steelman went straight to the room he occupied with
Smith.

"How much stuff have we got, Smith?"

"Nine pounds seventeen and threepence."

Steelman gave an exclamation of disapproval with that state of financial
affairs. He thought a second. "I know the barman here, and I think he
knows me. I'll chew his lug for a bob or may be a quid."

Twenty minutes later he went to Gentleman Sharper's room with ten
pounds--in very dirty Bank of New Zeala