"Hold hard, Sir and Excellency," said Bones. "What did you have to put up in the way of shares?"
Sanders flushed. He was a shy man, and not given to talking about his money affairs.
"Oh, about five thousand pounds," he said awkwardly. "Of course, it's a lot of money; but even if the business isn't successful, I have a five-year contract with the company, and I get more than my investment back in salary."
That night Bones stayed on after Hamilton had left, and had for companion Miss Marguerite Whitland, a lady in whose judgment he had a most embarrassing faith. He had given her plenty of work to do, and the rhythmical tap-tap of her typewriter came faintly through the door which separated the outer from the inner office.
Bones sat at his desk, his chin in his hand, a very thoughtful you
