always respectable journey that ended so surprisingly less than
three weeks later in the firm's private office. It had been the
most remarkable period of my life. I would neither give it up nor
live it again under any inducement, and yet all that I lost was
some twenty yards off my drive!

It was really McKnight's turn to make the next journey. I had a
tournament at Chevy Chase for Saturday, and a short yacht cruise
planned for Sunday, and when a man has been grinding at statute law
for a week, he needs relaxation. But McKnight begged off. It was
not the first time he had shirked that summer in order to run down
to Richmond, and I was surly about it. But this time he had a new
excuse. "I wouldn't be able to look after the business if I did
go," he said. He has a sort of wide-eyed frankness that makes one
ashamed to doubt him. "I'm always car sick crossing the mountains.
It's a fact, Lollie. See-sawing over the peaks does it. Why,
crossing the Alleghany Mountains has the Gulf Stream to Bermuda
beaten to a frazzle."

So I gave him up finally and went home to pack. He came later in
the evening with his machine, the Cannonball, to take me to the
station, and he brought the forged notes in the Bronson case.

"Guard them with your life," he warned me. "They are more precious
than honor. Sew them in your chest protector, or wherever people
keep valuables. I never keep any. I'll not be happy until I see
Gentleman Andy doing the lockstep."

He sat down on my clean collars, found my cigarettes and struck a
match on the mahogany bed post with one movement.