“Only one can succeed, you know,” said Mr Plover. “Make it the seven hundred and fiftieth.”
He sat back in his chair, tilted his head, and his glasses lost their balance. “Seven hundred and fiftieth,” he mumbled crookedly behind their lenses.
“Yes?” said Gilead, calmly inquisitorial.
“I venture to think I know the very man for your purpose,” said Mr Plover, smiling, with the glasses in place once more.
“Yes?” said Gilead again.
“His name is Nestle,” said the lawyer—“Herbert Nestle. He is a man of immense industry and capacity, and at present out of a situation.”
“What was his last?” asked the client.
“He was conveyancing clerk,” said Mr Plover, “to Broker and Borrodaile, since in liquidation. There was some question of trust funds, and Nestle was scandalously misused. A man with clean hands—he has my strong personal recommendation, Mr Balm, if that counts for anything with you.”
“It settles a difficulty,” said Gilead, rising.
He left Mr Plover preparing to draw out and sign several folio pages of cheques, a task, deputed to him by his partners, which he greatly enjoyed, and executed with the minutest care and precision, ruling all the cross lines.