This
sofa does not feel over and above safe. It was not meant for fifteen-
stone men. But this doesn't look quite the sort of place where one would
expect to pick up money."
"Just what I was thinking," said the Admiral, looking ruefully about
him.
"Ah, well! I have heard that the best furnished offices generally
belong to the poorest firms. Let us hope it's the opposite here. They
can't spend much on the management anyhow. That pumpkin-headed boy was
the staff, I suppose. Ha, by Jove, that's his voice, and he's got our
man, I think!"
As he spoke the youth appeared in the doorway with a small, brown,
dried-up little chip of a man at his heels. He was clean-shaven and
blue-chinned, with bristling black hair, and keen brown eyes which shone
out very brightly from between pouched under-lids and drooping upper
ones. He advanced, glancing keenly from one to the other of his
visitors, and slowly rubbing together his thin, blue-veined hands. The
small boy closed the door behind him, and discreetly vanished.
"I am Mr. Reuben Metaxa," said the moneylender. "Was it about an
advance you wished to see me?"
"Yes."
"For you, I presume?" turning to Charles Westmacott.
"No, for this gentleman.
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