Closet as it was—­or cupboard as it might have almost been called—­it contained a table and two chairs; and it had a window of its own, which opened out upon a blank wall which was distant from it not above four feet.  As the house to which this wall belonged was four storeys high, it would sometimes happen that Mr Musselboro’s cupboard was rather dark.  But this mattered the less as in these days Mr Musselboro seldom used it.  Mr Musselboro, who was very constant at his place of business—­much more constant than his friend Dobbs Broughton,—­was generally to be found in his friend’s room.  Only on some special occasions, on which it was thought expedient that the commercial world should be made to understand that Mr Augustus Musselboro had an individual existence of his own, did that gentleman really seat himself in the dark closet.  Mr Dobbs Broughton, had he been asked what was his trade, would have said that he was a stockbroker; and he would have answered truly, for he was a stockbroker.  A man may be a stockbroker though he never sells any stock; as he may be a barrister though has not practiced at the bar.  I do not say that Mr Broughton never sold any stocks; but the buying and selling of stock for other people was certainly not his chief business.  And had Mr Musselboro been asked what was his trade, he would have probably given an evasive answer.  At any rate in the City, and among people who understood City matters, he would not have said that he was a stockbroker.  Both Mr Broughton and Mr Musselboro bought and sold a good deal, but it was chiefly on account.  The shares which were bought and sold very generally did not pass from hand to hand; but the difference in the price of the shares did do so.  And then they had another little business between them.  They lent money on interest.  And in this business there was a third partner, whose name did not appear on the dirty door-post.  That third partner was Mrs Van Siever, the mother of Clara Van Siever whom Mr Conway Dalrymple intended to portray as Jael driving a nail into Sisera’s head.

On a certain morning Mr Broughton and Mr Musselboro were sitting together in the office which has been described.  They were in Mr Broughton’s room, and occupied each arm-chair on the different sides of the fire.  Mr Musselboro was sitting close to the table, on which a ledger was open before him, and he had a pen and ink before him, as though he had been at work.  Dobbs Broughton had a small betting-book in his hand, and was seated with his feet up against the side of the fire-place.  Both men wore their hats, and the aspect of the room was not the aspect of a place of business.  They had been silent for some minutes when Broughton took his cigar-case out of his pocket, and nibbled off the end of a cigar, preparatory to lighting it.

‘You had better not smoke here this morning, Dobbs,’ said Musselboro.

‘Why shouldn’t I smoke in my own room?’

‘Because she’ll be here just now.’