I did as I was bid, and twenty minutes later, having travelled by Underground, for I couldn’t raise a taxi, I approached the block of chambers in Leadenhall Street where dwelt the respected firm who managed my investments.  It was still a few minutes before noon, and as I slowed down a familiar figure came out of the bank next door.

Ivery beamed recognition.  ‘Up for the day, Mr Brand?’ he asked.  ’I have to see my brokers,’ I said, ’read the South African papers in my club, and get back by the 5.16.  Any chance of your company?’

‘Why, yes—­that’s my train. Au revoir.  We meet at the station.’  He bustled off, looking very smart with his neat clothes and a rose in his button-hole.

I lunched impatiently, and at two was turning over some new books in Traill’s shop with an eye on the street-door behind me.  It seemed a public place for an assignation.  I had begun to dip into a big illustrated book on flower-gardens when an assistant came up.  ’The manager’s compliments, sir, and he thinks there are some old works of travel upstairs that might interest you.’  I followed him obediently to an upper floor lined with every kind of volume and with tables littered with maps and engravings.  ‘This way, sir,’ he said, and opened a door in the wall concealed by bogus book-backs.  I found myself in a little study, and Blenkiron sitting in an armchair smoking.

He got up and seized both my hands.  ’Why, Dick, this is better than good noos.  I’ve heard all about your exploits since we parted a year ago on the wharf at Liverpool.  We’ve both been busy on our own jobs, and there was no way of keeping you wise about my doings, for after I thought I was cured I got worse than hell inside, and, as I told you, had to get the doctor-men to dig into me.  After that I was playing a pretty dark game, and had to get down and out of decent society.  But, holy Mike!  I’m a new man.  I used to do my work with a sick heart and a taste in my mouth like a graveyard, and now I can eat and drink what I like and frolic round like a colt.  I wake up every morning whistling and thank the good God that I’m alive, It was a bad day for Kaiser when I got on the cars for White Springs.’

‘This is a rum place to meet,’ I said, ’and you brought me by a roundabout road.’

He grinned and offered me a cigar.

’There were reasons.  It don’t do for you and me to advertise our acquaintance in the street.  As for the shop, I’ve owned it for five years.  I’ve a taste for good reading, though you wouldn’t think it, and it tickles me to hand it out across the counter . . .  First, I want to hear about Biggleswick.’