"Beastly awkward," said the burglar sympathetically. "I know what it feels like. Tell 'em to call again."
"I can't. If I don't pay I must file my petition."
"File your banker!" exclaimed the other. "Don't you do anything rash. There's many a man lived to regret ever dreaming of insolvency. I suppose you've realised all your assets?"
"Every one," said Sir John, "except things like these," and he pulled out the I.O.U.'s from the pile of papers.
The burglar looked at them. "Well?" he said inquiringly. "You've had these three years. Why the blazes haven't you got your money?"
"The Marquis of Chillingford hasn't got any money," replied the knight sorrowfully.
"I know he hasn't to-day, but he had yesterday, and he may have to-morrow. Why, man, he scooped in a cool ten thou' when Tadpole won the Derby."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Sir John.
"But I do. If you will lend money to lords, why the blazes don't you take in the sporting papers, and keep an eye on your friends? Tommy Chillingford is far too busy a man to remember these bits of paper, but I'm sure nothing would have pleased him more than to have paid you back your money if you'd suggested it at the time. He's had a run of confounded bad luck since then, but he'll bob up serenely one of these days, and you take my tip and get in that time. What else have you in this line?"
The knight opened a drawer, and therefrom produced a bundle of promissory notes and dishonoured cheques.