“What is the governor up to, Mr. Thompson?” he questioned daringly. “Casting the glad eye on some fair lady; not to be disturbed for an hour will give them plenty of time for—er—endearments.”
Thompson turned his severe eyes upon him.
“This is neither the place nor the subject for such jokes, Mr. Johnson. May I trouble you to get on with your work? We are waiting for that deed.”
Mr. Johnson applied himself to his labours afresh.
“It is nice to know that one is really useful!”
The morning wore on. The two clients mentioned by Mr. Bechcombe—Mr. Geary and Mr. Pound—duly arrived and were shown in to Mr. Bechcombe, in each case remaining only a short time. Then there came a few minutes' quiet. The eyes of the clerks wandered to the clock. At twelve o'clock the first batch of them would depart to luncheon.
Amos Thompson's thoughts were busy with his chief. Some very important business must be about to be transacted in Mr. Bechcombe's private room, and the managing clerk, though usually fully cognizant of all the ins and outs of the affairs of the firm, had no notion what it might be. He would have been more or less than mortal if his speculations with regard to the mysterious visitor had not risen high. Just as the clock struck twelve there was a knock and ring at the outer door, and he heard a loud colloquy going on with the office boy. In a minute Tony Collyer came through into the clerks' office. It showed the upset to the general aspect of the managing clerk's ideas that he should go forward to meet him.
“Good morning, Mr. Anthony. I am sorry that Mr. Bechcombe is engaged.”
“So am I,” said Tony, shaking him heartily by the hand. “Because I want to see him particularly and my time is limited this morning. But I suppose I must wait a bit. Get me in as soon as you can, there's a good old chap!”
Thompson shook his head.