Archie, left alone, began for the first time to have serious doubts.  He had allowed himself to be swayed by Mr. Sherriff’s magnetic personality, but now that the other had removed himself he began to wonder if he had been entirely wise to lend his sympathy and co-operation to the scheme.  He had never had intimate dealings with a snake before, but he had kept silkworms as a child, and there had been the deuce of a lot of fuss and unpleasantness over them.  Getting into the salad and what-not.  Something seemed to tell him that he was asking for trouble with a loud voice, but he had given his word and he supposed he would have to go through with it.

He lit another cigarette and wandered out into Fifth Avenue.  His usually smooth brow was ruffled with care.  Despite the eulogies which Sherriff had uttered concerning Peter, he found his doubts increasing.  Peter might, as the Press-agent had stated, be a great scout, but was his little Garden of Eden on the fifth floor of the Cosmopolis Hotel likely to be improved by the advent of even the most amiable and winsome of serpents?  However—­

“Moffam!  My dear fellow!”

The voice, speaking suddenly in his ear from behind, roused Archie from his reflections.  Indeed, it roused him so effectually that he jumped a clear inch off the ground and bit his tongue.  Revolving on his axis, he found himself confronting a middle-aged man with a face like a horse.  The man was dressed in something of an old-world style.  His clothes had an English cut.  He had a drooping grey moustache.  He also wore a grey bowler hat flattened at the crown—­ but who are we to judge him?

“Archie Moffam!  I have been trying to find you all the morning.”

Archie had placed him now.  He had not seen General Mannister for several years—­not, indeed, since the days when he used to meet him at the home of young Lord Seacliff, his nephew.  Archie had been at Eton and Oxford with Seacliff, and had often visited him in the Long Vacation.

“Halloa, General!  What ho, what ho!  What on earth are you doing over here?”

“Let’s get out of this crush, my boy.”  General Mannister steered Archie into a side-street, “That’s better.”  He cleared his throat once or twice, as if embarrassed.  “I’ve brought Seacliff over,” he said, finally.

“Dear old Squiffy here?  Oh, I say!  Great work!”

General Mannister did not seem to share his enthusiasm.  He looked like a horse with a secret sorrow.  He coughed three times, like a horse who, in addition to a secret sorrow, had contracted asthma.

“You will find Seacliff changed,” he said.  “Let me see, how long is it since you and he met?”

Archie reflected.

“I was demobbed just about a year ago.  I saw him in Paris about a year before that.  The old egg got a bit of shrapnel in his foot or something, didn’t he?  Anyhow, I remember he was sent home.”

“His foot is perfectly well again now.  But, unfortunately, the enforced inaction led to disastrous results.  You recollect, no doubt, that Seacliff always had a—­a tendency;—­a—­a weakness—­it was a family failing—­”