ood that Mr. Bryany, with his private sitting-room and his
investments in Seattle and Calgary, was at his wits' end for a bag of
English sovereigns, and had trusted to some chance encounter to save
him from a calamity. And his contempt for Mr. Bryany was that of a man
to whom his bankers are positively servile.

"Here!" Mr. Bryany almost shouted. "Don't light your cigarette with my
option!"

"I beg pardon!" Edward Henry apologized, dropping the document which
he had creased into a spill. There were no matches left on the table.

"I'll find you a match!"

"It's of no consequence," said Edward Henry, feeling in his pockets.
Having discovered therein a piece of paper he twisted it and rose to
put it to the gas.

"Could you slip round to your bank and meet me at the station in the
morning with the cash?" suggested Mr. Bryany.

"No, I couldn't," said Edward Henry.

"Well, then, what--?"

"Here, you'd better take this," the "Card," reborn, soothed his host
and, blowing out the spill which he had just ignited at the gas, he
offered it to Mr. Bryany.

"What?"

"This, man!"

Mr. Bryany, observing the peculiarity of the spill, seized it and
unrolled it--not without a certain agitation.

He stammered:

"Do you mean to say it's genuine?"

"You'd almost think so, wouldn't you?" said Edward Henry. He was
growing fond of this reply, and of the enigmatic, playful tone that he
had invented for it.

"But--"

"We may, as you say, look twice at a fiver," continued Edward Henry.
"But we're apt to be careless about hundred-pound notes in this
district. I daresay that's why I always carry one."

"But it's burnt!"

"Only just the edge. Not enough to harm it. If any bank in England
refuses it, return it to me and I'll give you a couple more in
exchange. Is that talking?"

"Well, I'm dashed!" Mr. Bryany attempted to rise, and then subsided
back into his chair. "I am simply and totally dashed!" He smiled
weakly, hysterically.

And in that instant Edward Henry felt all the sweetness of a complete
and luscious revenge.

He said commandingly:

"You must sign me a transfer. I'll dictate it!"

Then he jumped up.

"You're in a hurry?"

"I am. My wife is expecting me. You promised to find me a match."
Edward Henry waved the unlit cigarette as a reproach to Mr. Bryany's
imperfect hospitality.

IV

The clock of Bleakridge Church, still imperturbably shining in the
night, showed a quarter to one when he saw it