To his surprise, Mr. Tredgold senior was in an unusually affable mood.  He pushed his papers aside at once, and, motioning his visitor to a chair, greeted him with much heartiness.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” he said, cheerfully.  “I want you to come round to my place at eight o’clock to-night.  I’ve just seen Stobell, and he’s coming too.”

“I will if I can,” said Mr. Chalk.

“You must come,” said the other, seriously.  “It’s business.”

“Business!” said Mr. Chalk.  “I don’t see—­”

“You will to-night,” said Mr. Tredgold, with a mysterious smile.  “I’ve sent Edward off to town on business, and we sha’n’t be interrupted.  Goodbye.  I’m busy.”

He shook hands with his visitor and led him to the door; Chalk, after a vain attempt to obtain particulars, walked slowly home.

Despite his curiosity it was nearly half-past eight when he arrived at Mr. Tredgold’s that evening, and was admitted by his host.  The latter, with a somewhat trite remark about the virtues of punctuality, led the way upstairs and threw open the door of his study.

“Here he is,” he announced.

A slender figure sitting bolt upright in a large grandfather-chair turned at their entrance, and revealed to the astonished Mr. Chalk the expressive features of Miss Selina Vickers; facing her at the opposite side of the room Mr. Stobell, palpably ruffled, eyed her balefully.

“This is a new client of mine,” said Tredgold, indicating Miss Vickers.

[Illustration:  “‘This is a new client of mine,’ said Tredgold.”]

Mr. Chalk said “Good evening.”

“I tried to get a word with you last night,” said Miss Vickers.  “I was down at the bottom of your garden whistling for over ten minutes as hard as I could whistle.  I wonder you didn’t hear me.”

“Hear you!” cried Mr. Chalk, guiltily conscious of a feeling of disappointment quite beyond his control.  “What do you mean by coming and whistling for me, eh?  What do you mean by it?”

“I wanted to see you private,” said Miss Vickers, calmly, “but it’s just as well.  I went and saw Mr. Tredgold this morning instead.”

“On a matter of business,” said Mr. Tredgold, looking at her.  “She came to me, as one of the ordinary public, about some—­ha—­land she’s interested in.”

“An island,” corroborated Miss Vickers.

Mr. Chalk took a chair and looked round in amazement.  “What, another?” he said, faintly.

Mr. Tredgold coughed.  “My client is not a rich woman,” he began.

“Chalk knows that,” interrupted Mr. Stobell.  “The airs and graces that girl will give herself if you go on like that——­”

“But she has some property there which she is anxious to obtain,” continued Mr. Tredgold, with a warning glance at the speaker.  “That being so——­”

“Make him wish he may die first,” interposed Miss Vickers, briskly.