r.

"Mr. Shorthouse," he began, somewhat nervously, "I have never yet had
the opportunity of observing whether or not you are possessed of
personal courage."

Shorthouse gasped, but he said nothing. He was growing accustomed to the
eccentricities of his chief. Shorthouse was a Kentish man; Sidebotham
was "raised" in Chicago; New York was the present place of residence.

"But," the other continued, with a puff at his very black cigar, "I must
consider myself a poor judge of human nature in future, if it is not one
of your strongest qualities."

The private secretary made a foolish little bow in modest appreciation
of so uncertain a compliment. Mr. Jonas B. Sidebotham watched him
narrowly, as the novelists say, before he continued his remarks.

"I have no doubt that you are a plucky fellow and--" He hesitated, and
puffed at his cigar as if his life depended upon it keeping alight.

"I don't think I'm afraid of anything in particular, sir--except women,"
interposed the young man, feeling that it was time for him to make an
observation of some sort, but still quite in the dark as to his chief's
purpose.

"Humph!" he grunted. "Well, there are no women in this case so far as I
know. But there may be other things that--that hurt more."

"Wants a special service of some kind, evidently," was the secretary's
reflection. "Personal violence?" he asked aloud.

"Possibly (puff), in fact (puff, puff) probably."

Shorthouse smelt an increase of salary in the air. It had a stimulating
effect.

"I've had some experience of that article, sir," he said shortly; "but
I'm ready to undertake anything in reason."

"I can't say how much reason or unreason there may prove to be in this
particular case. It all depends."

Mr. Sidebotham got up and locked the door of his study and drew down the
blinds of both windows. Then he took a bunch of keys from his pocket and
opened a black tin box. He ferreted about among blue and white papers
for a few seconds, enveloping himself as he did so in a cloud of blue
tobacco smoke.

"I feel like a detective already," Shorthouse laughed.

"Speak low, please," returned the other, glancing round the room. "We
must observe the utmost secrecy. Perhaps you would be kind enough to
close the registers," he went on in a still lower voice. "Open registers
have betrayed conversations before now."

Shorthouse began to enter into the spirit of the thing. He tiptoed
across the floor and shut the two iron