ottage?"

"In there," answered Miss Pett. "In Kitely's room. Safe and sound.
There's no danger. He'll not wake. I mixed him a glass of toddy before
he went to bed, and neither earthquakes nor fire-alarms 'ull wake him
before nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

"Whew!" said Christopher. "Um! it's a dangerous game--it's harbouring,
you know. However, they'd suspect that he'd come here. Whatever made him
come here?"

"I made him come here," replied Miss Pett. "I caught him in the wood
outside there, as I was coming back from the Town Hall, so I made him
come in. It'll pay very well, Chris."

Mr. Pett, who was lifting his glass to his lips, arrested it in mid-air,
winked over its rim at his aunt, and smiled knowingly.

"You're a good hand at business, I must say, old lady!" he remarked
admiringly. "Of course, of course, if you're doing a bit of business out
of it----"

"That'll come tomorrow," said Miss Pett, seating herself at the table
and glancing at her nephew's bag. "We'll do our own business tonight.
Well, how have you come on?"

Christopher munched and drank for a minute or two. Then he nodded, with
much satisfaction in his manner.

"Very well," he answered. "I got what I consider a very good price. Sold
the whole lot to another Brixton property-owner, got paid, and have
brought you the money. All of it--ain't even taken my costs, my
expenses, and my commission out of it--yet."

"How much did you sell for?" asked Miss Pett.

Christopher pulled his bag to his side and took a bundle of red-taped
documents from it.

"You ought to think yourself jolly lucky," he said, wagging his head
admonitorily at his aunt. "I see a lot of the state of the property
market, and I can assure you I did uncommonly well for you. I shouldn't
have got what I did if it had been sold by auction. But the man I sold
to was a bit keen, 'cause he's already got adjacent property, and he
gave rather more than he would ha' done in other circumstances. I got,"
he continued, consulting the topmost of his papers, "I got, in round
figures, three thousand four hundred--to be exact, three thousand four
hundred, seventeen, five, eleven."

"Where's the money?" demanded Miss Pett.

"It's here," answered Christopher, tapping his breast. "In my
pocket-book. Notes, big and little--so that we can settle up."

Miss Pett stretched out her hand.

"Hand it over!" she said.

Christopher gave his aunt a sidelong glance.

"Hadn't we better reckon up