"Now, if—yes, it's an idea!"
Bones seized paper, and his long-feathered quill squeaked violently.
"That's it—a thousand members at ten pounds a year, four hundred bedrooms at, say, ten shillings a night—— How many is four hundred times ten shillings multiplied by three hundred and sixty-five? Well, let's say twenty thousand pounds. That's it! A club!"
"A club?" said Honest John blankly.
"A river club. You said Greenhithe—that's somewhere near Henley, isn't it?"
Honest John sighed.
"No, sir," he said gently, "it's in the other direction—toward the sea."
Bones dropped his pen and pinched his lip in an effort of memory.
"Is it? Now, where was I thinking about? I know—Maidenhead! Is it near Maidenhead?"
"It's in the opposite direction from London," said the perspiring Mr.
Staines.