s nearly three months now since Conyers, in a moment of unusual
expansion, had laid before him the invention at which he had been
working for so many silent years. The thing even then, though complete
in all essentials, had lacked finish, and this final touch young
Palliser, himself a gunner with a positive passion for guns, had been
able to supply. He had seen the value of the invention and had given it
his ardent support. He had, moreover, friends in high places, and could
obtain a fair and thorough investigation of the idea.

This he had accomplished, with a result that had transcended his high
hopes, on his friend's behalf; and he now proceeded to pour out his
information with an accompanying stream of congratulation, to which
Conyers sat and listened with scarcely the movement of an eyelid.

Hugh Palliser found his impassivity by no means disappointing. He was
used to it. He had even expected it. That momentary unsteadiness on
Conyers' part had astonished him far more.

Concluding his narration he laid the official correspondence before him,
and got up to open the door. The night was black and terrible, the heat
came in overwhelming puffs, as though blown from a blast furnace. He
leaned against the doorpost and wiped his forehead. The oppression of
the atmosphere was like a tangible, crushing weight. Behind him the
paper on the wall rustled vaguely, but there was no other sound. After
several minutes he turned briskly back again into the room, whistling a
sentimental ditty below his breath.

"Well, old chap, it was worth waiting for, eh? And now, I suppose,
you'll be making a bee-line for home, you lucky beggar. I shan't be long
after you, that's one comfort. Pity we can't go together. I suppose you
can't wait till the winter."

"No, my boy. I'm afraid I can't." Conyers spoke with a faint smile, his
eyes still fixed upon the blue official paper that held his destiny.
"I'm going home forthwith, and be damned to everything and
everybody--except you. It's an understood thing, you know, Palliser,
that we are partners in this deal."

"Oh, rot!" exclaimed Palliser impetuously. "I don't agree to that. I did
nothing but polish the thing up. You'd have done it yourself if I
hadn't."

"In the course of a few more years," put in Conyers drily.

"Rot!" said Palliser again. "Besides, I don't want any pelf. I've quite
as much as is good for me, more than I want. That's why I'm going to get
married. You'll be going the s