Mr. Jacob Potts, blowing very hard, and with his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth, finished an elaborate signature, patted his waistcoat pocket, in which he had just deposited a cheque, laid down the pen, and, leaning back in his chair, crossed his legs. He was once more occupying the distinguished position of being Aaron Rodd's only client.  
"I never thought to do it," he declared. "I never thought to part with 'The Sailor-boys' while I was, so to speak, in the prime of life. It's 'aving the lads turn agin me that's done it. It shows, Mr. Rodd," he added impressively, "what money will do in this world."
 
"Financially," Aaron Rodd reminded him, "you are independent, absolutely independent of work."
 
"I know, but what's a man to do?" Mr. Potts replied with a sigh. "There was plenty down there always to keep me occupied, and those lads—well, I could have sworn to their running straight till that blarsted Dutchman came along. I tell you, Mr. Rodd," he went on, "I've done some deals in my life, and I've been up against propositions where money didn't seem much object. I've 'ad jobs brought to me which I wouldn't allow my lads to tackle, where they, in a manner of speaking, thrust a blank cheque down under my nose, but I never in my born days knowed money chucked about like them as was at the back of that Dutchman was willing to chuck, it about. Why, for an ordinary job, if my boys got a tenner apiece they thought themselves on velvet. From wot Tim, my barman, told me, and he generally noses out wot there is going abaht, there was two 'undred quid for each of those boys if they got the young woman on board. No wonder they were kind of off their chumps!"
 
"Where exactly did they mean to take her?" Aaron Rodd asked.
 
Mr. Jacob Potts grinned.
 
"I bet she knows, sir, and I should 'ave thought she'd told you before this," he replied. "Give every man 'is due, I say, and for an amateur that 'ad no more idea than a babe unborn how to put up his dukes, I must say you did fairly let into 'em, Mr. Rodd. I never seed a man lose 'old of 'imself so, in a manner of speaking, and as for that young gent as writes poetry, why, I'd make a bruiser of 'im in six months. 'E don't seem to feel pain.... And bein' as we're on the subject of that scrap, sir, are you above taking a word of advice from an old man?"
 
"I certainly am not," Aaron Rodd assured him.
 
"If I was you, I should go a bit quiet with the young lady and 'er friends," Jacob Potts said seriously. "I've nowt straightforward to tell agin 'em, and that's a fact, but a bit here and a bit there is good enough for a man with a level head. There's three or four of 'er kidney in this country, and, if I'm not greatly mistook, they're wrong 'uns."
 
"I can't think that the young lady comes altogether under that designation," Aaron Rodd protested stiffly. "At the same time, Mr. Potts, I must admit that her associations are mysterious."
 
"Steer clear of them, sir, and take an old man's advice," the ex-publican begged. "I've 'ad things 'inted to me about them that I shouldn't like altogether to put into words——"
 
Aaron Rodd saw his client out and found an old friend ascending the staircase. Harvey Grimm was whistling softly to himself, his hat was at its usual jaunty angle, his violets were as fresh as ever, his clothes as carefully brushed. Only his expression was different. He was almost serious. He took Aaron by the arm.
 
"Put on your hat, my friend," he said. "We will walk for a little time."
 
Aaron obeyed and they made their way down to the Embankment Gardens.
 
"Listen," Harvey Grimm began, looking around to be sure that no passers-by were within hearing distance, "there is such a thing as tempting Fate a little too far. I think we have come to the point when we had better draw in."
 
"Explain yourself, please," his companion begged.
 
"During the last few weeks," Harvey Grimm proceeded, "I have broken up and cut into different shapes nearly a hundred thousand pounds' worth of diamonds. I have actually handled nearly eighty thousand pounds in money. You and I are fifteen thousand pounds each to the good. Our friends want to go on. Frankly, I've got the funks. I'd like to cry off for a time."
 
"That doesn't sound like you," Aaron remarked.
 
"Perhaps not," his friend admitted. "All the same, I've no fancy for thrusting my neck into the noose. Brodie doesn't even know it himself, but he was hot on the scent last time, He found out, somehow or other, the very house in which I was living. We were in the same room. He even had me searched. Once I saw him stare. I thought it was all up. Then his suspicion passed. It was just the way one of the Jewish girls down there had accepted me which put him off, but I tell you, Aaron, it was touch and go. Then the diamonds themselves—there was a stroke of genius there of which I am proud. I hadn't long to do it either. Where do you think I hid them?"
 
"No idea."
 
"Of course you haven't! Listen. I had set them roughly, in common brass fittings, like a pile of common brooches that were being sold, and I mixed them all up together, let them lie there on the counter of the little jeweller's shop where I have been doing my work and where I was hiding. Brodie took up some and let them fall through his fingers. I tell you that was the closest shave of my life!"
 
"I think we should be wise to drop it," Aaron declared earnestly. "We are off the rocks now, Harvey. I am content with what I've got."
 
"That's how I'm feeling," the other assented, "and yet there's this last necklace. It seems rather playing it low-down on Brinnen not to get rid of that for him. You see, unless it's broken up quickly, it's more dangerous stuff to handle than the others."
 
"Why?" Aaron demanded.
 
"Don't be foolish," Harvey Grimm admonished, a little impatiently. "There's the hotel where it was stolen, right in front of you. Here am I with the necklace, a hundred yards away. There's Brinnen on the same floor. There's Madame de Borria—why, it's a dare-devil piece of work, anyway."
 
"You don't mean that it's Madame de Borria's necklace you've got?" Aaron Rodd groaned.
 
"Of course it is!" Harvey Grimm replied, a little testily. "You saw it yesterday, didn't you? There it is in my overcoat pocket, the pocket nearest you, at the present moment."
 
Aaron Rodd paused abruptly before a bench and sat down. It was quite close to where he had first seen Henriette.
 
"Look here," he said, "for God's sake, Harvey, jump into a taxi at Charing-Cross there and take the thing off somewhere."
 
"Take it off?" was the grim response. "I'd give a cool hundred to be rid of it at this minute. The trouble is that if I make a single move in the direction of any of my haunts, the whole thing will be blown upon."
 
"You mean that you are being followed?"
 
"Brodie hasn't been fifty yards away from me since nine o'clock," Harvey Grimm muttered. "Madame de Borria saw him yesterday, just after the theft, and he persuaded her to put the matter into his hands. See that window—the end one but three on the top storey but two?"
 
Aaron looked up to where the spotless white front of the Milan gleamed through the budding trees.
 
"I see it," he admitted.
 
"That is the window of Madame de Borria. Now count five windows to the left and one down—that is my room. Now up again, and two on to the right, and you come to the apartments of Captain Brinnen, known to Paul Brodie as the redoubtable Jeremiah Sands. When you add to these geographical coincidences the fact that the necklace is at the present moment in my pocket, and that I can't move a yard without being followed, you will understand that one needs all one's wits this morning. We are getting just a little near the bone."
 
"Nearer than you imagine, perhaps," Aaron Rodd whispered. "Here's Brodie."
 
Harvey Grimm was, for a moment, curiously still. His frame seemed to have stiffened into a sort of rigid attention. One felt that his brain was working with the same concentrated force. He neither moved nor looked in the direction which his companion had indicated. Instead he leaned a little further back in the corner of the seat and lit a cigarette.
 
"One needs to remember," he murmured, "that it is really quite a long time since I have seen this unwelcome intruder upon our privacy."
 
Brodie came strolling along the asphalt walk, puffing out his cheeks and gazing about him, as though exercise and an interested contemplation of the river were the sole reason for his peregrinations. He appeared to recognise the two men only in the act of passing them. He at once stopped short and greeted them in his usual hearty fashion.
 
"Pleasant little spot, this, for an hour's recreation," he declared. "I was thinking about you, by the by, Grimm, as I walked along."
 
"I am flattered," was the calm reply. "I should have thought that all your attention would have been engrossed upon the little affair over yonder. I understand that Madame de Borria has placed the recovery of her necklace in your hands. Quite a feather in your cap, my friend, if you succeed."
 
Brodie glanced casually at the block of buildings in front.
 
"Yes," he assented, "I have that on my mind, of course. By the by, were you going back to your rooms, by any chance?"
 
"I was on my way there."
 
"Come, that's fortunate. With your permission, we will walk along together."
 
The two men rose and they all strolled along towards the hotel.
 
"Curiously enough," Brodie went on, "I was wondering whether I should be likely to run up against you to-day, Grimm. We wanted to ask your advice, Inspector Ditchwater and I, about that little affair the night before last. You heard the particulars, I suppose?"
 
"I was in the smoking-room," Harvey Grimm admitted, "when Madame came running down in her dressing-gown. Naturally, we heard the story told a good many times."
 
"Just so! Madame, it seems," the detective continued, "heard nothing, knew nothing, until late in the morning, when her maid told her that the floor valet was unable to obtain admittance to her husband's room. She at once stepped through the communicating door and found him still unconscious, with the necklace missing."
 
"Has he recovered yet?" Harvey Grimm enquired. "Is he able to give any account of what happened?"
 
"I saw him for a few minutes last night," Brodie replied. "He seemed still very dazed and confused, but he talked quite coherently. His story is simple enough and doesn't help us much. He was fast asleep—he can't even say at what hour—when he was awakened by the thrusting of a gag into his mouth and a bandage over his eyes. He thought at first it was a nightmare and he tried to spring out of bed. He was held down, however, quite firmly, and something placed under his nose which made him feel just as though, to use his own words, he was sinking back to sleep again. He remembers nothing more until the morning, when he was found by his wife. The moment they released the gag he was violently sick, and the room certainly smells ethery."
 
"What about the necklace?"
 
"Well, the necklace, for some reason or other, seems to have been kept in a tin dispatch-box in his room. It was locked, of course, but the keys were under his pillow, a fact which the thief, whoever it was, seems to have known. The box was simply opened and the necklace taken."
 
"It all sounds as though the thief must have been some one staying in the hotel," Aaron observed.
 
The detective smiled pleasantly upon him. They had left the Gardens now and were approaching the back entrance to the Milan.
 
"The legal mind, Mr. Rodd," he remarked—"the legal mind. Yes, I may say that we have come to that conclusion ourselves, Ditchwater and I. Some one staying in the hotel, we think."
 
They passed through the mahogany doors and Brodie rang the bell for the lift.
 
"By the by, Grimm," he suggested, "have you any objection—you have so often asked me to have a look at your rooms here?"
 
"Delighted, I'm sure," the other assented cheerfully. "We had better get out on the restaurant floor and take the lift on the other side of the café. I am afraid you won't see them at their best just now. I only returned yesterday from a week's absence."
 
"That so?" Brodie murmured. "Say, these little trips away from town are very pleasant! I don't seem to be able to get away from my work often enough. Not that I've been doing much good," he confessed dolefully, "during the last few months. Things have been going rather against me, Grimm. I've put in a lot of work and it don't seem to have panned out according to expectations."
 
"Too bad!" Harvey Grimm sympathised. "You're up against a genius, though, Brodie—there's no question about that."
 
Paul Brodie nodded solemnly.
 
"I tell you, sir," he declared, "that Jeremiah Sands is more than a genius. He has the devil's own luck, too, and I have come to the conclusion," he added, dropping his voice to a confidential undertone, "that the young lady is almost as clever as he is. I don't mind admitting," he went on, as they passed through the café and stood waiting for the other lift, "that at one time, Grimm, I was inclined to think that you'd put it over me—that little affair of the faked diamond, you know, when we tried to make a scoop in Mr. Rodd's office. I have changed my mind, though. Jerry Sands was too clever ever to walk into a trap like that. I guess I did you an injustice there, Grimm, and you, Mr. Rodd. Things have been a bit better with you lately, though, haven't they?" he wound up, a little abruptly.
 
Aaron Rodd raised his eyebrows. He had the air of one who considered the last remark impertinent.
 
"Have they?" he observed coolly.
 
"No business of mine, of course," Brodie went on. "Say, is this your floor, Grimm?"
 
The lift had come to a standstill and they stepped out.
 
"My rooms are this way," the latter announced.
 
The little party traversed a corridor, at the further end of which Harvey Grimm threw open a door, leading through a small entrance-hall into an octagonal sitting-room, having a pleasant outlook on the Thames. A man was standing with his back towards them, gazing out of the window. He turned around at their entrance.
 
"Ah, our friend Ditchwater!" Brodie murmured. "You know Inspector Ditchwater, don't you, Grimm?"
 
"I know him, certainly," Harvey Grimm replied, frowning, "but I can't imagine what the mischief he is doing in my rooms?"
 
"Perhaps I ought to have explained," the detective said apologetically. "We have taken the liberty, Grimm, of making a few slight investigations in your apartments."
 
"The devil you have!" their tenant exclaimed, gazing through the half-open door into the inner room. "Is that the reason why my bedroom seems all upside down?"
 
"Probably," the detective admitted—"quite probably. You see," he continued, "you are, in your way, my friend, an exceedingly interesting person to the police in this country, as you were at one time, I believe, to the police of New York. When a little affair such as we've been talking about happens only, as it were, a few yards away from your rooms, why, naturally, we've some interest in your doings."
 
"Have you anything against me?" Harvey Grimm asked quietly.
 
"A few questions," the other murmured. "See here, Grimm," he went on, with a sudden change of tone, "you've been absent from town for exactly nine days, until yesterday morning. Just where have you spent those nine days?"
 
Harvey Grimm moved to the sideboard and helped himself to a cigarette from an open box.
 
"Well," he observed, "I'm hanged if I can see that that's anybody's business except my own."
 
"I will admit, sir," Brodie proceeded, "that there is, at the present moment, not the slightest necessity why you should answer that question—it is, in fact, a matter slightly removed from the immediate object of our visit this morning—and yet it is a question which I am going to press upon you, and which, should you feel so disposed, Mr. Grimm, you might possibly answer with great benefit to yourself. The long and short of it is this. Is it worth your while to put yourself right with the authorities and with me, or isn't it? I tell you, as man to man, I have a theory of my own about you and your disappearances."
 
"I should have thought," Harvey Grimm remarked, after a brief pause, "that Inspector Ditchwater, having made himself so free with my apartments, would have been in a position to have told you everything himself. However, come this way."
 
He led them into the bedroom. A portmanteau, not wholly unpacked, was open upon the stand.
 
"My portmanteau," he pointed out, "which, as you have doubtless already ascertained from the hall-porter, came back with me the night before last. There's the label."
 
Mr. Brodie turned it over and examined it.
 
"Exford," he murmured.
 
"Just so," Harvey Grimm assented. "Now what about those two sets of fishing-rods there?"
 
The detective fingered the label and read the address aloud.
 
"'Mr. Harvey Grimm, The Crown Hotel, Exford.'"
 
"That, of course," Harvey Grimm continued drily, "is not evidence, as the label is in my own handwriting, but you will find that the golf clubs there bear a railway label, I think."
 
The detective turned the bag around and nodded.
 
"Very interesting," he admitted, "but Exford—at this time of the year!"
 
"You're no sportsman, Brodie," Harvey Grimm said reproachfully, "or you'd know all about the March trout. Just a moment. Come back into the sitting-room."
 
He led the way, searched for a moment on the sideboard and threw a Daily Mirror on to the table. Brodie adjusted his eyeglasses. In the left-hand corner of one of the inner pages was a small picture of a man fishing, and underneath:—
 
Fine catch of Mr. Harvey Grimm, a London sportsman, in the River Ex, last Monday.
 
"Quite a good likeness, too," the detective observed, as he laid down the newspaper. "Say, this is very interesting, Grimm! It disposes altogether of one of my theories. I had no idea that you possessed such simple tastes. I've done a little sea-fishing myself. Well, well! Still—now, Ditchwater!—you got back in time last night to help yourself to Madame de Borria's necklace!"
 
It was all an affair of seconds. Ditchwater had suddenly caught Harvey Grimm's two arms from behind whilst Brodie's hand had dived into his coat pocket. The necklace glittered upon the table. There was a moment's intense silence. Brodie was breathing quickly. There was a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
 
"Dear me," Harvey Grimm exclaimed, "fancy your finding that!"
 
The detective bent over his prize.
 
"The middle diamond is, without doubt," he announced, "a rose diamond. Quite a peculiar red light. Ditchwater, step round to Madame de Borria's rooms. Ask her if she will be so good as to come here at once."
 
The inspector disappeared. Harvey Grimm relit his cigarette, took off his overcoat in a dazed way, threw it over the back of a chair, and hung up his hat.
 
"I shouldn't bother to do that, Grimm," the detective advised him quietly. "I am afraid we shall have to ask you to come and pay us a little visit. You've got plenty of common sense, I know. It isn't necessary, I suppose, to tell you that there are a couple more men in the corridor?"
 
"I've no idea of making a fool of myself," Harvey Grimm replied, "but do you mind if I help myself to a whisky and soda? Your methods are a little nerve-shaking."
 
The detective stepped in front of the sideboard.
 
"Say, I don't believe for a moment, Grimm," he said, "that you're up against it badly enough for that, but I don't think I'd worry about a drink just now."
 
"Mix it for me yourself, then," the other suggested.
 
The detective hesitated for a moment, and then did as he was asked, keeping his back, however, to the sideboard, and reaching first for the whisky and then for the soda-water.
 
"Say when?" he invited courteously, with his hand on the siphon.
 
"That'll do nicely. Thank you, Brodie. Your very good health!"
 
Harvey Grimm drained the tumbler and set it down. Almost as he did so, there was a knock at the door, the sound of voices and Madame de Borria entered. The detective had just time to throw a newspaper over the necklace before she appeared.
 
"You sent for me?" she exclaimed, turning at once to Brodie. "Tell me, have you news of my necklace?"
 
"Do you mind just running over its points once more?" Brodie asked.
 
She made a little grimace.
 
"I wrote it all out for Scotland Yard," she reminded him patiently. "The stones are very fine but without any special character. There are sixty-three of them, almost equal in size until you come to the front. It is the front that is so wonderful. The middle stone is a rose diamond, the only one in the world which flashes a natural pink cross. There is nothing else like it. The two on either side are slightly pink, and there is one yellow one, two places from the middle stone. But it is the middle stone, Mr. Brodie, that is worth all the rest put together. It is the most wonderful in the world. Please do not keep me in suspense."
 
The detective lifted the newspaper from the table. It was seldom that he permitted himself any emotion. There was a slight gesture of triumph, however, as he turned towards the woman. She literally sprang upon the necklace, turned it over, gazed at it blankly for a moment and flung it back upon the table.
 
"You brought me here to look at this!" she exclaimed contemptuously—"and after you have heard my description, too! Why, my necklace has twice as many stones, and my rose diamond has the flash of the cross!"
 
Both Brodie and the inspector stood for a moment as though stupefied, incapable of speech. Harvey Grimm threw his cigarette into the hearth.
 
"Madame de Borria," he said, "I should, perhaps, add my apologies to those which our good friend there is engaged in framing. The necklace is mine, or rather it is entrusted to me for sale. I am well aware that it does not resemble yours, which I have often seen and admired. Mr. Brodie, however, in his excessive zeal, gave me no time for explanations. He descended upon my rooms, seized the necklace from my overcoat pocket—scarcely a likely receptacle, I think, for stolen goods," he added, with a little expostulatory grimace—"and sent off for you."
 
The lady turned almost savagely upon the detective.
 
"So this is the way," she said, "you conduct your affairs, Mr. Paul Brodie! You insult a harmless gentleman whom no one but an idiot could mistake for a thief, you drag me from my room to look at a necklace which does not resemble mine in the slightest, and meanwhile the thief gets further and further away," she added, with biting sarcasm. "Oh, you are very busy, are you not, catching him! You are very near that two thousand pounds!"
 
She stamped her foot and turned away. Brodie opened the door for her. His attitude was apologetic—almost cringing.
 
"Madame de Borria," he said, "I'm sorry. But two necklaces! Who could conceive such a thing! Rest assured, however, that this is not the end."
 
She strode away without another word. Brodie came back into the room. He fingered the brim of his hat thoughtfully.
 
"Say, are you in the habit of carrying valuable necklaces about with you in your overcoat pocket, Grimm?" he asked.
 
Harvey Grimm took up his stand very deliberately on the hearthrug.
 
"I am," he announced. "I also occasionally wear a coronet instead of a hat, and a suit of armour instead of pyjamas. I do these things because I choose, and because it's damned well no one else's business except my own."
 
"So you're going to take that tone, are you?" Brodie observed thoughtfully.
 
"Between ourselves, I think it's time I did," was the prompt reply. "The sooner you make up your mind that I am a harmless individual, the better. I told you openly, within twenty-four hours of making your acquaintance upon the steamer, that I was an expert in precious stones. That is how I make my living, and it is perhaps as reputable a way as yours. The necklace which you have had the impertinence to accuse me of stealing, is entrusted to me for sale, and if at any time there was any real reason for me to disclose the name of the owner, I would do so. At present, however, I consider that I have humoured you far enough. You will oblige me by leaving my rooms at once and taking Inspector Ditchwater with you."
 
"So that's the line, eh?"
 
"That is the line," Harvey Grimm assented, "and what are you going to do about it?"'
 
"Personally," Inspector Ditchwater decided, turning towards the door, "I am going to wish you good-morning and offer you my apologies, Mr. Grimm. We seem to be always in the wrong when we act upon Mr. Brodie's information, and the report I'm going to make to head-quarters will perhaps save you any further trouble."
 
Brodie's face was imperturbable. He accepted the situation, however, and followed Ditchwater from the room. The two men left behind listened to their retreating footsteps. Harvey Grimm threw himself into an easy chair.
 
"So that's that," he observed. "An exciting quarter of an hour, eh, Aaron?"
 
"I am bewildered," Aaron Rodd admitted. "I don't understand, even now. Wasn't it Madame de Borria's necklace, then?"
 
"That one wasn't!"
 
"You don't mean to say that you've got two necklaces?"
 
"Feel in the other pocket," Harvey Grimm directed him.
 
Aaron obeyed. From the right-hand pocket of the overcoat which was hanging over the chair, he drew out a second and more beautiful necklace. As he held it before him, the cross flashed out from the rose diamond in the centre.
 
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "You mean to say that it was here all the time?"
 
"Of course it was. I told you that I was in a tight corner. He never gave me a chance to hide it. I knew these rooms would be searched. Fortunately, he chose the left-hand pocket of my overcoat instead of the right."
 
"What are you going to do with it?" Aaron asked breathlessly.
 
Harvey Grimm glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to one.
 
"You shall see," he replied. "Just open the door, will you? I think I heard some one ring. Put the necklace away first—in that drawer will do."
 
Aaron did as he was told. A short, dark man, dressed with extreme care, pushed past him into the room. It was the husband of Madame de Borria.
 
"I have come," he announced. "How is the good Mr. Grimm, and what is the news this morning?"
 
"The news is," Harvey Grimm told him, "that the detective your wife employed has been up here, searching for the necklace."
 
"Marvellous!" the little man declared, rolling himself a cigarette nervously. "How sagacious! What foresight! But as to results eh...?"
 
Harvey Grimm, with a little sigh of relief, thrust his hand into the drawer, produced the necklace and handed it to the South American.
 
Mr. de Borria's face glowed with satisfaction.
 
"I have had a leetle trouble with Madame," he announced, "but it is past. She agreed at last eagerly to the advertisement. You have seen it?"
 
Harvey Grimm nodded.
 
"Two thousand pounds reward and no questions asked," he murmured.
 
Mr. de Borria drew from his pocket a battered and soiled cardboard box, into which he proceeded to stow the necklace.
 
"I make a package here, as you see," he pointed out. "I have received an anonymous note which makes a demand upon my honour that, if I accede to its terms, I destroy it. It is destroyed!"
 
"The letter——?" Harvey Grimm began.
 
Mr. de Borria tapped his forehead.
 
"In the air—in my brain," he exclaimed. "What does it matter? It is destroyed. I go to the place named, I produce the two thousand pounds—behold!—and the necklace is mine."
 
He laid a pocket-book upon the table and drew out a sheaf of notes, which he carefully counted into two heaps. One he pushed towards Harvey Grimm, the other he replaced in his pocket. Then he smiled. He had the engaging smile of a child.
 
"So!" he pronounced. "We are all happy and contented. Madame my wife will wear her necklace to-night and once more rejoice. I shall have that thousand pounds in my pocket which is so necessary for a man like myself in this your great city of gallantry and happiness. And you, my dear Mr. Harvey Grimm, who played the burglar and assisted me in my little scheme, you, too, have a thousand pounds. So! Now that all is well, shall we visit the little lady down in the American Bar? Afterwards, I will take a taxi just to nowhere, and I will come back in another taxi from nowhere. I shall break into my wife's rooms, and she will hold out her arms to me, and she will have her necklace, and I have got my thousand pounds. Enfin! Let us descend."
 
Harvey Grimm took up his hat and Aaron Rodd followed suit.
 
"It seems to me," Aaron remarked, as he brought up the rear of the little procession, "that the only man who gets nothing out of this is Mr. Brodie!"