So that when the unexpected Mr. Bishop (whose Christian name was Softly) said to him:  “I won’t keep you now.  Only I was passing and I want you to be kind enough to make an early appointment with me at some time and place entirely convenient to yourself,” Mr. Prohack proceeded to persuade Mr. Bishop to stay to lunch, there being no sort of reason in favour of such a course, and various sound reasons against it.  Mr. Prohack deceived Mr. Softly Bishop as follows: 

“No time and place like the present.  You must stay to lunch.  This is your old club and you must stay to lunch.”

“But you’ve begun your lunch,” Bishop protested.

“I’ve not.  The fact is, I was half expecting you to look in again.  The hall-porter told me....”  And Mr. Prohack actually patted Mr. Bishop on the shoulder—­a trick he had.  “Come now, don’t tell me you’ve got another lunch appointment.  It’s twenty-five to two.”  And to himself, leading Mr. Bishop to the strangers’ dining-room, he said:  “Why should I further my own execution in this way?”

He ordered a lunch as copious and as costly as he would have ordered for the other, the real Bishop.  Powerful and vigorous in some directions, Mr. Prohack’s mentality was deplorably weak in at least one other.

Mr. Softly Bishop was delighted with his reception, and Mr. Prohack began to admit that Mr. Bishop had some personal charm.  Nevertheless when the partridge came, Mr. Prohack acidly reflected: 

“I’m offering this fellow a portion of my daughter’s new frock on a charger!”

They talked of the club, Mr. Bishop as a former member being surely entitled to learn all about it, and then they talked about clubs in the United States, where Mr. Bishop had spent recent years.  But Mr. Bishop persisted in giving no hint of his business.

“It must be something rather big and annoying,” thought Mr. Prohack, and ordered another portion of his daughter’s new frock in the shape of excellent cigars.

“You don’t mean to say we can smoke here,” exclaimed Mr. Bishop.

“Yes,” said Mr. Prohack.  “Not in the members’ coffee-room, but we can here.  Stroke of genius on the part of the Committee!  You see it tends to keep guests out of the smoking-room, which for a long time has been getting uncomfortably full after lunch.”

“Good God!” murmured Mr. Bishop simply.

IV

And he added at once, as he lighted the Corona Corona:  “Well, I’d better tell you what I’ve come to see you about.  You remember that chap, Silas Angmering?”

“Silas Angmering?  Of course I do.  Used to belong here.  He cleared off to America ages ago.”

“He did.  And you lent him a hundred pounds to help him to clear off to America.”

“Who told you?”

“He did,” said Mr. Bishop, with a faint, mysterious smile.

“What’s happened to him?”