“Mopping it up, do you mean?  Shifting it?  Looking on the jolly old stuff when it was red and what not, what?”

“Exactly.”

Archie nodded.

“Dear old Squiffy was always rather-a lad for the wassail-bowl.  When I met him in Paris, I remember, he was quite tolerably blotto.”

“Precisely.  And the failing has, I regret to say, grown on him since he returned from the war.  My poor sister was extremely worried.  In fact, to cut a long story short, I induced him to accompany me to America.  I am attached to the British Legation in Washington now, you know.”

“Oh, really?”

“I wished Seacliff to come with me to Washington, but he insists on remaining in New York.  He stated specifically that the thought of living in Washington gave him the—­what was the expression he used?”

“The pip?”

“The pip.  Precisely.”

“But what was the idea of bringing him to America?”

“This admirable Prohibition enactment has rendered America—­to my mind—­the ideal place for a young man of his views.”  The General looked at his watch.  “It is most fortunate that I happened to run into you, my dear fellow.  My train for Washington leaves in another hour, and I have packing to do.  I want to leave poor Seacliff in your charge while I am gone.”

“Oh, I say!  What!”

“You can look after him.  I am credibly informed that even now there are places in New York where a determined young man may obtain the—­ er—­stuff, and I should be infinitely obliged—­and my poor sister would be infinitely grateful—­if you would keep an eye on him.”  He hailed a taxi-cab.  “I am sending Seacliff round to the Cosmopolis to-night.  I am sure you, will do everything you can.  Good-bye, my boy, good-bye.”

Archie continued his walk.  This, he felt, was beginning to be a bit thick.  He smiled a bitter, mirthless smile as he recalled the fact that less than half an hour had elapsed since he had expressed a regret that he did not belong to the ranks of those who do things.  Fate since then had certainly supplied him with jobs with a lavish hand.  By bed-time he would be an active accomplice to a theft, valet and companion to a snake he had never met, and—­as far as could gather the scope of his duties—­a combination of nursemaid and private detective to dear old Squiffy.

It was past four o’clock when he returned to the Cosmopolis.  Roscoe Sherriff was pacing the lobby of the hotel nervously, carrying a small hand-bag.

“Here you are at last!  Good heavens, man, I’ve been waiting two hours.”

“Sorry, old bean.  I was musing a bit and lost track of the time.”

The Press-agent looked cautiously round.  There was nobody within earshot.

“Here he is!” he said.

“Who?”

“Peter.”

“Where?” said Archie, staring blankly.

“In this bag.  Did you expect to find him strolling arm-in-arm with me round the lobby?  Here you are!  Take him!”