Messes. Grigg & Limpet Were duly informed of Mr. Gurth Egerton’s mysterious resurrection, by their faithful clerk, and sat in state all the morning, ready to receive their adventurous and eccentric client.

Both Grigg and Limpet were anxious to have the mystery of his laziness in coming to life explained, and had been puzzling their brains to account for it. Yet when, shortly after noon, Mr. Gurth Egerton was announced as having entered the clerks’ office, there was no departure from the usual ceremony.

‘Say we are engaged, and show Mr. Egerton into room B,’ said Mr. Limpet.

Then Grigg pulled out his watch, while Limpet read the Times.

‘Time?’ said Grigg, presently.

‘How long has he waited,’ asked Limpet.

‘Ten minutes,’ answered Grigg.

‘Give him another two, then,’ said Limpet, as though Mr. Gurth Egerton were an egg, and it was a question of how long he should be boiled.

When the twelve minutes were up Limpet rang a hell, and the clerk went in search of Mr. Egerton, and bowed him into the presence of the firm.

Mr. Egerton did not choose to enter into details with his solicitors, Grigg & Limpet, who had prepared themselves for a three-volume novel, and were disappointed when they found their client’s story was a dry summary, which would have done credit to the matter-of-fact columns of the Times. Mr. Egerton did not even throw in a little ‘picturesque reporting.’ He had been shipwrecked, and he had been saved; he had come home, and had not made himself known because he hated excitement; he thought if he showed up right on the top of the news of the shipwreck he should be inundated with inquiries about missing relatives, and worried by newspaper reporters. He had passed his house one evening, and he supposed that was when Mrs. Turvey saw him and thought he was a ghost. He had met Duck, Messrs. Grigg & Limpet’s clerk, last evening, and sent a message to them. He should take up his residence at his house again tomorrow, and on any matter of business that might be necessary Grigg & Limpet could communicate with him there. He would call on Birnie himself.

That was the substance of the professional interview. Mr. Grigg listened and said, ‘Exactly,’ ‘Indeed,’ and limited his share of the conversation to other remarks of a similar character. Limpet launched out a little more freely, but Mr. Egerton politely declined to be drawn beyond the boundary he had evidently marked out for himself.

When Mr. Egerton had retired, Grigs; said, ‘’Strodinary man,’ and Limpet nodded, and added, that ‘There was something more than that at the bottom of it, or he would eat his head.’

However, as it was not for them to inquire into their client’s secrets, but only to transact his business and protect his interest, they immediately set their clerks to work to prepare a statement which would show Mr. Egerton what had been done in his absence, and how his affairs stood.

When Mr. Grigg was giving instructions to Duck, a tall, good-looking young gentleman, dressed in the height of fashion, strolled into the room, and, after carefully hitching up his trousers at the knees to avoid creasing them, dropped gracefully into an arm-chair.

‘Well, governor, I’m here to time, you see. They wanted to put me in room C because you were engaged, but that game wouldn’t do with me, you know.’

Mr. Limpet frowned.

Mr. Grigg did the same, and more.

‘Mr. Limpet,’ he said, ‘do you allow your son to jeer at the business?’

‘Jeer at the business, be hanged!’ said Limpet, junior, rattling the handle of his cane against his beautiful teeth. ‘Can’t a fellow have his joke? Here, charge me 6s. 8d. for it, and put it down in the bill.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Reginald,’ growled Mr. Limpet; ‘you annoy Mr. Grigg very much.’

‘Oh, no, he doesn’t. He can’t help being a fool.’

Reginald Limpet laughed.

‘You’re talkative to-day, Mr. Grigg,’ he said; ‘glad to see it. Shows business is good. Well, look here, governor,’ he added, turning to Mr. Limpet; ‘you asked me to come, and I’ve come. What is it you want? To double my allowance, or to get me to introduce Mr. Grigg into the best female society?’

Grigg positively writhed in his chair.

‘Pretty female society it must be that tolerates you!’ he exclaimed. ‘Limpet, settle with your son, and let him go; we’re busy.’

‘All right,’ said Mr. Reginald; ‘don’t leave off for me; I’ll smoke till you’ve finished. Got the Sporting Life anywhere’?’ Limpet smiled behind a parchment.

Limpet had a great admiration for the daring manner in which his boy defied Grigg. Grigg was a crusty old bachelor, and so of course, never had a son, and very likely that made him more disagreeable to young Limpet than he would otherwise have been.

‘Shall I step out of the room, Mr. Limpet, till you’ve finished your family affairs?’ asked Mr. Grigg with a withering smile.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Reginald, jumping up and taking his father’s arm. ‘You might get shut in room C, or room D, or room F, you know, and we might blow up the wrong pipe after you when we’d finished, and have to start all the clerks off in exploring parties through the whole establishment in search of you. Come away, dad; we’ll go into room double X, if it’s empty.’

Limpet called his son a foolish fellow to talk such nonsense, and went out with him into the adjoining room. Mr. Limpet’s command to his son was a very simple one. When it had been given, young Limpet was about to go, when he remembered something.

‘By-the-bye, governor,’ he said, ‘you couldn’t give me a cheque this morning, could you?’

Mr. Limpet thought perhaps he could. He went back into his private office and returned presently with it.

‘There you are, Reg,’ he said. ‘Of course you’re going to cash it at once?’

‘Rather, governor. I shall take a hansom to the bank.’

‘Well, then, I wish you’d get me a cheque-book for home, and take it back with you. I haven’t a cheque in the house.’

‘All right, governor,’ answered Reginald.

Mr. Limpet handed his son an order on his bank for a chequebook, shook hands with him, and returned to smooth the ruffled Grigg.

At the bank Mr. Reginald Limpet received £20 in gold and a cheque-book. He stowed the gold in his pockct, but the chequebook was not such an easy matter. Wherever he put it it disarranged the set of something. At last, after several vain attempts to dispose of it artistically, Mr. Limpet, junior, decided that it must go in his coat-tail pocket, and if it bulged out behind it must.

Into the tail-pocket of his faultless frock-coat went the cheque-book, and the young man, jumping into a hansom, ordered the driver to take him to the Junior Corinthian. The Junior Corinthian was Mr. Limpet’s club.

He stayed at the club for an hour, and then strolled up New Bond Street

Now, when Mr. Limpet, junior, went into the bank in the City, two gentlemen were intensely interested in his movements. One of them followed him in, and heard him ask for a chequebook on Grigg & Limpet’s account.

This gentleman was a dark man, with a hook nose; the other was a thin, wiry-looking youth of about eighteen, with a cunning-looking face, and cross eyes that seemed for ever on the watch round the corners. This young gentleman was dressed in a neat grey suit, and looked a clerk as far as his top waistcoat button; beyond that he looked like a billiard marker or a sporting gent., for the gayness of his necktie and the curliness of the brim of his billycock would have shocked a City man dreadfully.

The dark gentleman with the hook nose came out directly and began talking to him. When a policeman came by, the dark man asked him if the blue omnibuses passed there.

‘Yes,’ said the policeman, ‘but there isn’t another for twenty minutes.’

Mr. Seth Preene, the possessor of the hook nose, knew that Well enough, but he wished to let the policeman know that he was waiting for an omnibus, otherwise the policeman might have wondered at his loitering so long.

When young Limpet came out, Mr. Preene and his young friend watched him into the cab and heard him tell the cabman where to drive to.

‘Now then, Boss,’ said Mr. Preene, when the cab had driven off, ‘you know what to do.’

‘Rumbo,’ answered the young gentleman. ‘He’s got something in his tail pocket as he didn’t ‘ave when he went in.’

‘And that he won’t have when he gets home, eh, Ross?’ said Mr. Preene, with an encouraging laugh.

‘Not if Boss Knivett can help it,’ said the youth with a grin. Then he hailed a hansom and desired to be driven to the street in which the Junior Corinthian Club was situated.

‘Blue Pigeons at ten if it’s right,’ whispered Mr. Preene, as he closed the cab-door for his young friend. Then the driver whipped his horse and whirled Mr. Boss Knivett rapidly from the watchful eye of his friend.

That afternoon as Mr. Limpet, junior, strolled up Bond Street, Mr. Boss Knivett strolled also. But Mr. Limpet, junior, was a long time giving Mr. Boss the desired chance, and he began to fear he might not have a good day’s sport after all.

The little bird whose tail Mr. Knivett wished to get close enough to to put salt upon without observation kept from shop-windows and from crowds and strolled about well in the middle of the streets.

Boss was almost in despair when his prey turned into the Burlington Arcade. There the fates were still unpropitious, until Boss, looking about him, saw a young lady who nodded to him pleasantly. She was a young lady very loudly dressed, and her cheeks were suggestive of artistic treatment.

Boss crossed the arcade and spoke to her quietly.

‘I’m on a good lay, Liz,’ he said. ‘You can stand in a couple of quid if you like, if it comes off. No danger.’

‘No danger? Honour bright?’ said the girl.

‘Not a blessed haporth. I only want you to have a fit. Do you tumble?’

‘Right,’ said the young lady. ‘When?’

‘Walk in front of that gentleman,’ said Boss, pointing out Mr. Limpet, junior, ‘and when you hear me sneeze drop.’

The young lady strolled quickly away, and presently she was in front of Mr. Limpet, and Boss was behind him, the people in the arcade passing to and fro and sometimes crossing between them.

Suddenly Mr. Knivett had a bad cold and sneezed violently. At the same moment the young lady uttered a piercing shriek, and went down in a heap on the ground, kicking and struggling furiously.

A crowd came about in a minute, and Mr. Limpet was in the thick of it. Mr. Knivett was squeezed up close behind Mr. Limpet. Old ladies said, ‘Poor creature!’ Young ladies looked at the painted face and turned away. Old gentlemen and young gentlemen crowded round and loosened Liz’s bonnet-strings, patted her hands, and wondered what they ought to do.

Mr. Limpet, junior, looked on. That was his rÔle in life. He was born to look on, and he did it admirably. Presently the beadle of the Burlington and a policeman came upon the scene. Liz was carried into a shop, and the crowd dispersed.

Mr. Knivett had not remained long. He had no idle curiosity to gratify, and a girl in hysterics had no charm for him. He was out of the Burlington and down the other end of Bond Street before young Limpet strolled out of the arcade.

Mr. Knivett was disappointed. He had found nothing in the pocket but a cheque-book; but that evening when he handed it over to his employer he was delighted to receive £5 as the price of his day’s work.

‘I was afraid I’d lost a day, gov’nor,’ he said, clutching the gold in his hand.

‘Not a bit of it, Boss,’ answered Mr. Preene. ‘We can do with as many blank cheques as you can bring us. My firm will always pay a fair price for them.’

That evening Mr. Knivett, looking in to see some friends at a lodging-house in the Mint, told them that Seth Preene knew a firm that was in the market for blank cheques.

For which information the friends were not grateful, one of them even going so far as to say that it was stale news.

And seeing that the gentlemen of the Mint had taken all the blank cheques found in pocket-books and all the cheque-books ‘removed from offices’ to Smith and Co.—or rather to the representative of Smith and Co., for the firm never dealt direct—for the past month, the reader will perceive that Mr. Boss Knivett has much to learn before he takes high rank in his profession.

Mr. Limpet, junior, forgot all about the cheque-book till his father asked him for it that evening.

Then he exclaimed, ‘Good gracious! It’s been in my pocket all the afternoon.’

He felt in his coat-tail pocket, but it was not there.

Then he felt in all his pockets, and looked upstairs, and under the table, and in his hat, and in his boots, and in all the absurd and impossible places where people imagine a lost article may by miracle be secreted.

He took a cab and went back to the Junior Corinthian, but no cheque-book had been found there.

He bad lost it. There could be no doubt about it now.

Mr. Limpet junior’s light-hearted composure was quite undisturbed. He was sorry, but it was only a cheque-book. What the deuce did it matter? Now if it had been bank-notes it would have been a nuisance.

Mr. Limpet, senior, was cross, but he recovered his equanimity under the soothing influence of Reginald’s unconcern. After all, it was only a cheque-book, of no use to anyone but the owner, and Smith and Co.