“There are several for you, sir,” he said, handing Deringham some of them, and passed into the house shouting, “Harry.”

Deringham glanced through his budget, and his face changed a little, while his daughter noticed the set of his lips and the clustering wrinkles about his eyes.  There was a telegraphic message, but he put it aside and opened a bulky envelope whose stamp he recognized.  Then the missive he took out rustled a little in his hand as he read: 

“I’m afraid negotiations are not progressing well.  Mortimer, as you will see by enclosed copies of correspondence, demands a revaluation which would not be advisable before he will underwrite any of the capital.”

Deringham laid down the letter, and his daughter turned suddenly at his exclamation.  “The fools should have bought him off!” he said.

Then he took up the telegraphic message and read, “Scheme impracticable.  Cannot compromise with Mortimer.  Harper and the Syndicate against us.  Details following.”

Deringham said nothing, but sat staring before him with a face that seemed to have grown suddenly grey and haggard, until his daughter spoke to him.

“Have you had bad news, father?” she said.

The man, who had been sitting so that the light which shone out from the room behind them fell upon him, moved.  “I have,” he said.  “This message informs me that at least ten thousand pounds have been virtually taken out of my pocket.  As it happened, I wanted the money somewhat badly.”

He rose, and entering the house met Alton coming out of it.  The Canadian brushed past him with a letter in his hand, and Deringham turned a moment and looked after him.  The financier’s face was not pleasant just then, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes, while Seaforth, who was following his comrade, stared at him as he passed, and came up with Alton on the verandah.

“What has gone wrong with Deringham?” he said.

“I don’t know,” said Alton lightly.  “Do you think anything has?”

“That,” said Seaforth, “is what I am asking you.  He looked condemnably ugly just now.  One could have fancied that he contemplated killing somebody.”

Alton laughed.  “Got a little business trip up, I expect,” he said, and moved forward as he spoke.  “Here’s word from Mrs. Jimmy.  She wants to know when I’m going to begin.  Women are very persistent, Miss Deringham, but this one has some reason.”

“They usually have,” said the girl.  “I do not, however, know Mrs. Jimmy.”

“Of course,” said Alton, smiling.  “Still, I expect you’ll see her up here presently.”

It was a day or two later when Alton returned to the topic of Mrs. Jimmy, and he was then kneeling in the stern of a canoe which slid with a swift smoothness down the placid lake as he dipped the glistening paddle.  Miss Deringham was seated forward on a pile of cedar-twigs, with a wet line in her fingers, and in no way disturbed by the fact that she had caught nothing.  Such expeditions had become somewhat frequent of late, and though the girl sometimes wondered what she found to please her in the company and conversation of the bush rancher, the fact that she usually went with him when he crossed the lake remained.