Both men sat down.

Chilcote leaned forward, resting elbows on the table.  “There will be several things to consider—­” he began, nervously, looking across at the other.

“Quite so.”  Loder glanced back appreciatively.  “I thought about those things the better part of last night.  To begin with, I must study your handwriting.  I guarantee to get it right, but it will take a month.”

“A month!”

“Well, perhaps three weeks.  We mustn’t make a mess of things.”

Chilcote shifted his position.

“Three weeks!” he repeated.  “Couldn’t you—?”

“No; I couldn’t.”  Loder spoke authoritatively.  “I might never want to put pen to paper, but, on the other hand, I might have to sign a check one day.”  He laughed.  “Have you ever thought of that?—­that I might have to, or want to, sign a check?”

“No.  I confess that escaped me.”

“You risk your fortune that you, may keep the place it bought for you?” Loder laughed again.  “How do you know that I am not a blackguard?” he added.  “How do you know that I won’t clear out one day and leave you high and dry?  What is to prevent John Chilcote from realizing forty or fifty thousand pounds and then making himself scarce?”

“You won’t do that,” Chilcote said, with unusual decision.  “I told you your weakness last night; and it wasn’t money.  Money isn’t the rock you’ll split over.”

“Then you think I’ll split upon some rock?  But that’s beyond the question.  To get to business again.  You’ll risk my studying your signature?”

Chilcote nodded.

“Right!  Now item two.”  Loder counted on his:  fingers.  “I must know the names and faces of your men friends as far as I can.  Your woman friends don’t count.  While I’m you, you will be adamant.”  He laughed again pleasantly.  “But the men are essential—­the backbone of the whole business.”

“I have no men friends.  I don’t trust the idea of friendship.”

“Acquaintances, then.”

Chilcote looked up sharply.  “I think we score there,” he said.  “I have a reputation for absent-mindedness that will carry you anywhere.  They tell me I can look through the most substantial man in the House as if he were gossamer, though I may have lunched with him the same day.”

Loder smiled.  “By Jove!” he exclaimed.  “Fate Must have been constructing this before either of us was born.  It dovetails ridiculously.  But I must know your colleagues—­even if it’s only to cut them.  You’ll have to take me to the House.”

“Impossible!”

“Not at all!” Again the tone of authority fell to Loder.  “I can pull my hat over my eyes and turn up my coat-collar.  Nobody will notice me.  We can choose the fall of the afternoon.  I promise you ’twill be all right.”

“Suppose the likeness should leak out?  It’s a risk.”

Loder laughed confidently.  “Tush, man!  Risk is the salt of life.  I must see you at your post, and I must see the men you work with.”  He rose, walked across the room, and took his pipe from the rack.  “When I go in for a thing, I like to go in over head and ears,” he added, as he opened his tobacco-jar.