"But I'm afraid I wouldn't do."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because I don't know anything about the work."
"There's no work to know anything about. All you'd have to do would be to sit still. You'd never have more than two or three visitors in a day—and most days none at all."
"But what should I do when visitors came?"
"Show them what they asked to see. You'd find that in the catalogue. You'd soon get the hang of the place. It's small. There's not much in it when you come to sum it up. Miss Davis will show you the ropes before she leaves on the first of October. I'll give you the same salary I've been paying her."
He named a sum the munificence of which almost took my breath away.
"Oh, but I shouldn't be worth that."
"It's the salary," he said, briefly, as he rose. "You can arrange with my secretary, Strangways, when you would like to begin. The sooner the better, as I understand that Miss Davis would like to get off."
He was on his way to the door when, thinking of the tomb-like aspect of the place, I asked, desperately: