porch a moment."

The effect of this manoeuvre was to place them beyond all chance of
being overheard from the smoking-room, though the conversation was
nevertheless continued with all precaution.

"I want you to go into Exmouth at once," said Nugent. "Dixon will take
you in the car. At the quay you will find one of those French luggers
which come over laden with onions to be peddled about the country by the
crew. Inquire for a man named Pierre Legros, and tell him that I will
buy as many strings of onions as he can carry if he will bring them over
during the evening."

"Very good, sir," replied the manservant, who had absorbed the lucid but
inexplicable instructions without the quiver of an eyelash. "Does Legros
know you, sir?"

"He has never heard of me, nor I of him till this morning. I imagine,
though, that the prospect of a good sale will bring him here. If,
however, he demurs at all you might say that I have news to his
advantage in connection with the Manor House. You understand, of course,
Sinnett, that I am not really in need of onions?"

"You want the man, sir?"

"I must have the man."

With which the master of The Hut turned away in the certainty that he
would get what he wanted, and, recrossing the hall, entered his
cosy-smoking-room.

"Ah, Levison! Sorry to have kept you waiting," was his urbanely offhand
greeting to the little Jew who rose obsequiously from a big easy-chair.
"I have been lunching at the Manor House, and as I met Mr. Chermside
there I am able to forestall your report. He tells me that he intends to
kick over the traces."

"Prethithely what he told me, Mr. Nugent, sir," replied the Hebrew. "And
I reckon he means it. Though I'm only in the pawnbroking line, and an
assistant at that, I flatter mythelf I played the blooming financier up
to the nines, but he was as stubborn as Balaam's talking moke. He ain't
given me his final answer, yet, though. I'm to meet him to-morrow night
for that."

"So he said, and you must keep the appointment and do your level best to
make him change his mind," Nugent went on. "You are a clever little
chap, and I shouldn't be surprised if you succeeded. Mr. Leslie
Chermside is suffering from a qualm of conscience which may be only
transitory if you paint the alternative in sufficiently lurid colours."

"S'elp me, sir, but you can rely on me to rub it in thick."

"I am sure of that, though, by the way, I heard to-day that you have not
been without your