"Yes, yes; no offence!" said Driver hastily. And then slower: "Do you think he'd dine with me at the Savoy? I might be able to put some business in your way. If I could see my way to always having people like poor Pudleigh removed I could work with a freer hand."
"There's no doubt you could," said Chelubai.
"Well, do you think your friend the baronet would dine with me?"
"I dare say he would," I said indifferently, "if you promised not to make so many jokes."
"Ah, I am a bit too much of a wag—sometimes," he said thoughtfully.
His talk set me considering, and I could not but conclude that Gregson had misinformed me. Honest John Driver could not really be a King of Finance; he must be a mere princelet of that realm, or he would not hanker so greedily for the society of a baronet—he would have reached the stage of craving for dukes. It was a little disappointing; he might as yet have stolen no more than half a million from the intelligent investor, and we had been treating him as a veritable King of Finance. I could only console myself by the thought that he was the more likely to often need our help.
"When we were ready we put on him a Norfolk jacket and cap, and started out to walk up partridges, pointing out to him that if he tried to
