'Money?' Pett, the student, became Pett, the financier, at the magic word. 'There might be something in that if one got behind it. Dogs are fashionable. There would be a market for a really good medicine.'
'I'm afraid you couldn't put Mr. Smethurst's remedy on the market. It only works when the dog has been overeating himself and not taking any exercise.'
'Well, that's all these fancy dogs ever have the matter with them. It looks to me as if I might do business with this man. I'll get his address from Mitchell.'
'It's no use thinking of it, uncle Peter. You couldn't do business with him--in that way. All Mr. Smethurst does when any one brings him a fat, unhealthy dog is to feed it next to nothing--just the simplest kind of food, you know--and make it run about a lot. And in about a week the dog's as well and happy and nice as he can possibly be.'
'Oh,' said Mr. Pett, disappointed.
Ann touched the keys of her machine softly.
'Why I mentioned Mr. Smethurst,' she said, 'it was because we had been talking of Ogden. Don't you think his treatment would be just what Ogden needs?'
Mr. Pett's eyes gleamed.
'It's a shame he can't have a week or two of it!'
Ann played a little tune with her finger-tips on the desk.
'It would do him good, wouldn't it?'
Silence fell upon the room, broken only by the tapping of the typewriter. Mr. Pett, having finished the comic supplement, turned to the sporting section, for he was a baseball fan of no lukewarm order. The claims of business did not permit him to see as many games as he could wish, but he followed the national pastime closely on the printed page and had an admiration for the Napoleonic gifts of Mr. McGraw which would have gratified that gentleman had he known of it.
'Uncle Peter,' said Ann, turning round again.
'Eh?'
'It's funny you should have been talking about Ogden getting kidnapped. This story of aunt Nesta's is all about an angel-child--I suppose it's meant to be Ogden--being stolen and hidden and all that. It's odd that she should write stories like this. You wouldn't expect it of her.'
'Your aunt,' said Mr. Pett, 'lets her mind run on that sort of thing a good deal. She tells me there was a time, not so long ago, when half the kidnappers in America were after him. She sent him to school in England--or, rather, her husband did. They were separated then--and, as far as I can follow the story, they all took the next boat and besieged the place.'
'It's a pity somebody doesn't smuggle him away now and keep him till he's a better boy.'
'Ah!' said Mr. Pett wistfully.
Ann looked at him fixedly, but his eyes were once more on his paper. She gave a little sigh, and turned to her work again.
'It's quite demoralising, typing aunt Nesta's stories,' she said. 'They put ideas into one's head.'
Mr. Pett said nothing. He was reading an article of medical interest in the magazine section, for he was a man who ploughed steadily through his Sunday paper, omitting nothing. The typewriter began tapping again.
'Great Godfrey!'
Ann swung round, and gazed at her uncle in concern. He was staring blankly at the paper.
'What's the matter?'
The page on which Mr. Pett's attention was concentrated was decorated with a fanciful picture in bold lines of a young man in evening dress pursuing a young woman similarly clad along what appeared to be a restaurant supper-table. An enjoyable time was apparently being had by both. Across the page this legend ran:
PICCADILLY JIM ONCE MORE
The Recent Adventures of Young Mr. Crocker
of New York and London
It was not upon the title, however, nor upon the illustration that Mr. Pett's fascinated eye rested. What he was looking at was a small reproduction of a photograph which had been inserted in the body of the article. It was the photograph of a woman in the early forties, rather formidably handsome, beneath which were printed the words:
Mrs. Nesta Ford Pett
Well-Known Society Leader and Authoress
Ann had risen and was peering over his shoulder. She frowned as she caught sight of the heading of the page. Then her eye fell upon the photograph.
'Good gracious! Why have they got aunt Nesta's picture there?'
Mr. Pett breathed a deep and gloomy breath.
'They've found out she's his aunt. I was afraid they would. I don't know what she will say when she sees this.'
'Don't let her see it.'
'She has the paper downstairs. She's probably reading it now.'
