“Fully that.”

“Let us look on the bright side.  We are in no hurry.  Blandings Castle is quite as comfortable as Number Seven Arundell Street, and the commissariat department is a revelation to me.  I had no idea English servants did themselves so well.  And, as for the social side, I love it; I revel in it.  For the first time in my life I feel as though I am somebody.  Did you observe my manner toward the kitchen maid who waited on us at dinner last night?  A touch of the old noblesse about it, I fancy.  Dignified but not unkind, I think.  And I can keep it up.  So far as I am concerned, let this life continue indefinitely.”

“But what about Mr. Peters?  Don’t you think there is danger he may change his mind about that five thousand dollars if we keep him waiting too long?”

“Not a chance of it.  Being almost within touch of the scarab has had the worst effect on him.  It has intensified the craving.  By the way, have you seen the scarab?”

“Yes; I got Mrs. Twemlow to take me to the museum while you were talking to the butler.  It was dreadful to feel that it was lying there in the open waiting for somebody to take it, and not be able to do anything.”

“I felt exactly the same.  It isn’t much to look at, is it?  If it hadn’t been for the label I wouldn’t have believed it was the thing for which Peters was offering five thousand dollars’ reward.  But that’s his affair.  A thing is worth what somebody will give for it.  Ours not to reason why; ours but to elude Baxter and gather it in.”

“Ours, indeed!  You speak as though we were partners instead of rivals.”

Ashe uttered an exclamation.  “You’ve hit it!  Why not?  Why any cutthroat competition?  Why shouldn’t we form a company?  It would solve everything.”

Joan looked thoughtful.

“You mean divide the reward?”

“Exactly—­into two equal parts.”

“And the labor?”

“The labor?”

“How shall we divide that?”

Ashe hesitated.

“My idea,” he said, “was that I should do what I might call the rough work; and—­”

“You mean you should do the actual taking of the scarab?”

“Exactly.  I would look after that end of it.”

“And what would my duties be?”

“Well, you—­you would, as it were—­how shall I put it?  You would, so to speak, lend moral support.”

“By lying snugly in bed, fast asleep?”

Ashe avoided her eye.

“Well, yes—­er—­something on those lines.”

“While you ran all the risks?”

“No, no.  The risks are practically nonexistent.”

“I thought you said just now that it would be madness for either of us to attempt to go to the museum at present.”  Joan laughed.  “It won’t do, Mr. Marson.  You remind me of an old cat I once had.  Whenever he killed a mouse he would bring it into the drawing-room and lay it affectionately at my feet.  I would reject the corpse with horror and turn him out, but back he would come with his loathsome gift.  I simply couldn’t make him understand that he was not doing me a kindness.  He thought highly of his mouse and it was beyond him to realize that I did not want it.