The Spider. Fergus Hume

detective business. Perhaps if I tell her that you are doing well as Nemo, she might----"

      By this time Vernon was on his feet. "Don't you dare, don't you dare!" he panted hoarsely, and the perspiration beaded his brow.

      "Oh!" Maunders raised his eyebrows. "Then it is true, after all."

      "Sit down," commanded Vernon savagely, resuming his own seat. "We must talk this matter out, if you please."

      "I came here for that purpose. Only don't keep me too late. I am engaged to Lucy for the third waltz, and must not disappoint her."

      Vernon winced. "You have no right to call Miss Corsoon by her Christian name."

      "Why not? She's not engaged to you. I love her, and, as yet--as yet, mind you, Vernon--I have as good a right as you to cut in."

      "I understood that you were as good as engaged to Miss Dimsdale."

      "Oh!" Maunders lightly flipped away a cigarette ash. "The shoe's on the other foot there. She loves me, but I don't love her. Still, there's money in the business if Ida becomes Mrs. Maunders. Old Dimsdale's got no end of cash, and Ida inherits everything as his only child. But he wants her to marry Colonel Towton---you know, the chap who did so well in some hill-tribe extermination in India. But Ida loves me, and Towton's got no chance, unless I marry Lucy Corsoon and give him a look in."

      "You're a cynical, conceited, feather-headed young ass," said Vernon with cold, self-restrained fury, "and I forbid you to speak of Miss Corsoon in that commercial way, much less call her by her Christian name. She loves me and I love her, and we intend to marry, if----"

      "If Lady Corsoon permits the match," finished Maunders, stretching out his long legs. "It's no go, my dear fellow. She doesn't think you rich enough for the girl."

      "I never heard that Constantine Maunders was a millionaire," retorted the other man bitterly.

      "My face is my fortune, old chap, and there are various ways of getting Lady Corsoon's consent."

      "What ways?" asked Vernon suddenly and searchingly looking at his friend.

      "Ah, you ask too much. I am not your partner yet."

      "That means you have some knowledge about Lady Corsoon which you can use to force her to consent."

      "Perhaps. I know a great deal about most people. Every one has his or her secrets as well as her or his price."

      "Are you a private enquiry agent also?" sneered Vernon, leaning back.

      "Ah!" Maunders seized upon the half admission. "Then you _are_ Nemo?"

      "Yes," assented the dark man reluctantly, "although I can't guess how you came to know about my business. I wish the fact kept dark, as it would be disastrous for me in Society."

      "Probably," admitted Maunders lazily. "One doesn't like to hob-nob with an Asmodeus who goes in for unroofing houses."

      "Yet you propose to join Asmodeus," chafed Vernon uneasily.

      "Oh yes; I think it's a paying business, you see, and I want money. How I learned about the matter is of no great consequence, and I don't think any one else will connect you with this Nemo abstraction. And when in partnership, I shall, of course, keep it dark for my own sake."

      "I daresay," sneered Vernon, secretly furious at having to submit. "And on what terms do you propose to join in the business you despise?"

      "Half profits," said Maunders promptly.

      "Really. You seem to set some value on yourself."

      "No one else will if I don't," replied Maunders good-humouredly. "See here, Arty--oh, then, Vernon if you will--your business as a private enquiry agent is to find out things about people, and----"

      "I beg your pardon, but you talk through your hat," interrupted Vernon acidly. "My business is to assist people to settle business which the general public is not supposed to know. I don't find out people's business. They come to me with difficult cases, and I settle them to the best of my ability."

      "Yes, yes," said Maunders leniently, "you put the best complexion on it, old man, but it's dirty work all the same."

      "It is nothing of the sort," almost shouted Vernon; then sank his voice to a furious whisper; "my business is perfectly honest and clean. The nature of it requires secrecy, but I take up nothing the doing of which would reflect on my honour. I have precious little money and also a logical way of looking at things. For that reason I trade as Nemo."

      "Under the rose, of course," laughed Maunders. "You don't put your goods in the shop window. However, I understand perfectly, and I am willing to come in with you. Oh, make no mistake, my dear chap, I am worth having as a partner, as I know heaps about Tom, Dick, and Harry, which they would rather were kept out of the newspapers."

      "I don't run a blackmailing business," said Vernon passionately.

      "What a nasty word, and wholly unnecessary. I never suggested blackmailing any one, that I know of. All I say is, that, having a goodish acquaintance with the seamy side of Society life, I can earn my half of the Nemo profits by assisting you."

      "And if I refuse?"

      "I shall hint--mind you I shan't say anything straight out--but I shall hint that you are a professionally inquisitive person."

      "I don't know if you are aware of it," said Vernon slowly, "but you are a scoundrel."

      "Oh, dear me, no; not at all," rejoined the other airily, "I am simply a young man with the tastes of a duke and the income of a pauper. Naturally I wish to supplement that income, and your secret business seems to offer advantages in the way of earning immediate cash."

      "And if I don't consent you will do your best to ruin me socially?"

      "That's business," said Maunders promptly. "Get a man into a corner and skin him at your leisure. Well, do you consent?"

      "I can't do anything else, that I can see," said the other bitterly. "However, you must give me a week to come to a decision."

      "Take a month," answered the visitor generously. "I'm not in a hurry to skin you, old man. You can't get out of the corner, you know. And see here, if we make a fortune out of this business, I'll give you a chance with Lucy, and take Ida Dimsdale with her ten thousand a year."

      "Will she have that much?"

      "Oh, certainly. I made inquiries," said Maunders coolly. "It's no use jumping in the dark you know. Old Dimsdale--his Christian name's Martin--was a Police Commissioner in Burmah some years ago, and shook the pagoda-tree to some purpose. Now he's retired, and lives in a gorgeously glorified bungalow, which he built at Hampstead. He's not a bad chap, and Ida is uncommonly good-looking. I might do worse."

      "What about Colonel Towton?"

      "I'll cut him out. He's a very young colonel of forty-five, handsome and smart, but with precious little brain about him. He's got an ancient country house in Yorkshire, and--but here, I'll be talking all the night." Maunders jumped up. "And Lucy is waiting for me. You can take a month."

      "Thank you," said Vernon frigidly. "I shall give you my answer then."

      "It will be 'yes,' of course; you can't say anything else. I say"---Maunders threw a laughing glance over his shoulder--"by this time you must have changed your opinion as to my being an ass," and he departed still laughing.

      Vernon ran after him and touched his shoulder. "Not an ass, but a scoundrel," he breathed with suppressed passion, and Maunders' laughter increased.

       CHAPTER II.

      A CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATION.

      When Maunders passed into the atrium, Vernon returned slowly to his seat under the peristyle. Here he ordered a fresh cup of strong coffee to clear his brain, lighted another cigarette, and sat down to recall the