“Yes, my dear Vernon, I wish to ask you to do something, if you kindly will, although it is not quite in your line.  Old Jackson, the editor of The Judge, is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“He was a friend of my father’s, and I used to know him slightly.”

“Well, that’s near enough.  As I daresay you have heard, he is an unreasonable old beggar, and has taken a dislike to our Sahara scheme.  Someone has set him against it and he refuses to receive advertisements, threatens criticisms, etc.  Now the opposition of The Judge or any other paper won’t kill us, and if necessary we can fight, but at the same time it is always wise to agree with your enemy while he is in the way, and in short—­would you mind going down and explaining his mistake to him?”

Before answering Major Vernon walked to the window leisurely and looked out.

“I don’t like asking favours from family friends,” he replied at length, “and, as you said, I think it isn’t quite my line.  Though of course if it has anything to do with the engineering possibilities, I shall be most happy to see him,” he added, brightening.

“I don’t know what it has to do with; that is what I shall be obliged if you will find out,” answered Sir Robert with some asperity.  “One can’t divide a matter of this sort into watertight compartments.  It is true that in so important a concern each of us has charge of his own division, but the fact remains that we are jointly and severally responsible for the whole.  I am not sure that you bear this sufficiently in mind, my dear Vernon,” he added with slow emphasis.

His partner moved quickly; it might almost have been said that he shivered, though whether the movement, or the shiver, was produced by the argument of joint and several liability or by the familiarity of the “my dear Vernon,” remains uncertain.  Perhaps it was the latter, since although the elder man was a baronet and the younger only a retired Major of Engineers, the gulf between them, as any one of discernment could see, was wide.  They were born, lived, and moved in different spheres unbridged by any common element or impulse.

“I think that I do bear it in mind, especially of late, Sir Robert,” answered Alan Vernon slowly.

His partner threw a searching glance on him, for he felt that there was meaning in the words, but only said: 

“That’s all right.  My motor is outside and will take you to Fleet Street in no time.  Meanwhile you might tell them to telephone that you are coming, and perhaps you will just look in when you get back.  I haven’t got to go to the House to-night, so shall be here till dinner time, and so, I think, will your cousin Haswell.  Muzzle that old bulldog, Jackson, somehow.  No doubt he has his price like the rest of them, in meal or malt, and you needn’t stick at the figure.  We don’t want him hanging on our throat for the next week or two.”