had indeed swindled his partner of many
crimes, and had backed Morning Glory at a remunerative price for his
own profit, is a painful question which need not be too closely
examined. It is certain that Seepidge was in a bad way, and as Mr.
Morris told himself with admirable philosophy, even if he had won a
packet of money, a thousand or so would not have been sufficient to get
Mr. Seepidge out of the cart.

"Something has got to be done," said Mr. Cresta Morris briskly.

"Somebody," corrected the taciturn Webber. "The question is, who?"

"I tell you, boys, I'm in a pretty bad way," said Seepidge earnestly.
"I don't think, even if I'd backed that winner, I could have got out of
trouble. The business is practically in pawn; I'm getting a police
inspection once a week. I've got a job now which may save my bacon, if
I can dodge the 'splits'--an order for a million leaflets for a Hamburg
lottery house. And I want the money--bad! I owe about three thousand
pounds."

"I know where there's money for asking," said Webber, and they looked
at him.

His interesting disclosure was not to follow immediately, for they had
reached closing-time, and were respectfully ushered into the street.

"Come over to my club," said Mr. Seepidge.

His club was off the Tottenham Court Road, and its membership was
artistic. It had changed its name after every raid that had been made
upon it, and the fact that the people arrested had described themselves
as artists and actresses consolidated the New Napoli Club as one of the
artistic institutions of London.

"Now, where's this money?" asked Seepidge, when they were seated round
a little table.

"There's a fellow called Bones----" began Mr. Webber.

"Oh, him!" interrupted Mr. Morris, in disgust. "Good Heavens! You're
not going to try him again!"

"We'd have got him before if you hadn't been so clever," said Webber.
"I tell you, he's rolling in money. He's just moved into a new flat in
Devonshire Street that can't cost him less than six hundred a year."

"How do you know this?" asked the interested Morris.

"Well," confessed Webber, without embarrassment, "I've been working
solo on him, and I thought I'd be able to pull the job off myself."

"That's a bit selfish," reproached Morris, shaking his head. "I didn't
expect this from you, Webbie."

"Never mind what you expected," said Webber, unperturbed. "I tell you
I tried it. I've been nosing round his place, getting informa