“I can make her rip,” the young man promised. “Come on.”
“Not I!” Jacob replied, with a shudder. “Besides, you’d expect me to pay the fines.”
“So long, then,” Felixstowe concluded, as he picked up his hat and turned to go. “Keep your weather eye open. If I lose the match, I’ll probably drop in for that post.”
The young man, after a violent series of explosions from his reluctantly started engine, shot into Pall Mall and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Jacob watched him from the window with a smile upon his lips. When he resumed his seat, however, the smile had vanished. He sat with his head resting upon his left hand, idly sketching upon a corner of the blotting pad. Presently he rang the bell for Dauncey.
“Dick,” he said, “Lord Felixstowe has just brought me a warning.”
“A warning,” Dauncey repeated.
“It appears,” Jacob went on, “that in the course of various insignificant adventures which have occurred to me during the last few months, I have made enemies. Mr. Dane Montague, Philip Mason, and Joe Hartwell are out on the warpath against me.”
“Financially?” Dauncey asked, with an incredulous smile.
Jacob shook his head.