strategic moment at which to strike the first blow. It was after dinner—and a remarkably good dinner at that—a dinner at which the wines had been of the choicest and the liqueurs perfection. Roland's experience of dinners at which the wines were of the choicest and the liqueurs perfection was strictly limited. Moreover, during the period of convalescence from influenza few men are at the height of their alertness. Consequently, the conditions were highly favourable—from the Napoleonic point of view.
"You know, Bleke, I've taken a great fancy to you," said Dermot, suddenly, as they sat smoking together, after Mrs. Windleband had left the room.
Roland blushed with gratification. His private estimate of himself was, he felt, at last being justified. The Coppins hadn't thought much of him; Muriel had patently preferred a mere mechanic; old Fineberg had treated him more or less as dirt; but, by Jove, Dermot Windleband, one of the master-brains of our time, could see the stuff in him.
"It's very kind of you to say so, Mr. Windleband," he murmured, diffidently.
"Bosh! Shouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," was the brusque rejoinder. "I have taken a fancy to you—so much so, that I'm going to do for you what I very seldom do for any man."
Roland said something futile about too much having been done for him already. Dermot waved the suggestion aside.
"Nonsense—only too glad. Now look here, Bleke; as a general rule I don't give tips"
"You're quite right," agreed Roland, warmly. "I think the tipping system is iniquitous. It ought to be abolished."
"Ah—I don't mean that sort of tip," said Dermot, with an indulgent smile; "I mean a financial tip. I suppose you don't know much about investments?"
"Not a thing," confessed Roland. Candour would, he felt, be best in the circumstances. No use attempting to bluff with Master-Minds.
"Put your money," said Dermot, sinking his voice to a cautious whisper, as though he feared that the very walls might hear and make public the priceless secret, "put every penny you can afford into Wildcat Reefs."
He leaned back in his chair with the benign air of, say the Philosopher who has just imparted to a favourite disciple the recently-discovered secret of the Elixir of Life. A pregnant silence hung for a few moments over the room.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Windleband," said Roland, when the overmastering sense of gratitude with which he was filled would allow him to speak. "I will."
Once more were the Napoleonic features lightened by that rare, indulgent smile.
"Not so fast, young man," he laughed. "Getting into Wildcat Reefs isn't quite so easy as you seem to think. Now—how much did you propose to invest?"
"About thirty thousand pounds."
Roland tried to mention the sum in a casual, off-hand way, as though it were a mere nothing; but the effort was not a success. A note of pride would insist upon creeping into his voice.
"Thirty thousand pounds!" exclaimed Dermot. "Why, my dear fellow, if it got about that you were going to buy Wildcat Reefs on that scale the market would be convulsed."
Which was true enough. If it had got about on 'Change that anyone was going to invest thirty thousand pounds in Wildcat Reefs the market would certainly have been convulsed. The House would have rocked with laughter. Wildcat Reefs was a standing joke—except with the unfortunate few who still held any of the shares.
"The thing will have to be done very cautiously," Dermot went on. "No one must know. But I think—only think, mind you—that I can manage it for you."
"You're awfully kind, Mr. Windleband," murmured Roland, gratefully.
"Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. As a matter of fact, I shall be doing another pal of mine a good turn at the same time."
"Another pal!" Gratifying words, these, from a Master-Mind. Roland felt that he was coming into his own apace. Few young fellows of his age, he was pretty certain, could count Windlebands among their friends.
"This pal of mine," Dermot proceeded, "has a large holding of Wildcats. He wants to realize in order to put the money into something else, in which he is more personally interested. But, of course, he couldn't unload thirty thousand pounds' worth of Wildcats on the public market."
"No, no—I quite see that," assented Roland. Dermot glanced up at him quickly, wondering whether, after all, he knew a little more than he had appeared to do. Luckily, Roland was trying, at the moment, to look intelligent, so Dermot was reassured.
"It might, however, be done by private negotiation. I daresay I could manage it for you; and probably I could do the deal on very favourable terms. Very possibly—as he wants the money in a hurry—he might let
