I
There was unwonted stir in the Montreal head offices of the Regal Bank of Canada. Rarely in the metropolitan headquarters of the Dominion’s greatest financial institution, where the comings and goings of important personages are almost hourly occurrences, did the entrance of a visitor draw more than a hurried glance from the workers behind the polished mahogany and lacquered brass. The man who had just come through the great double doors was no ordinary type.
He seemed like a being detached from his fellows; like them but not of them, indifferent, masterful. Tall and of superb build, his close-fitting dark clothes and light fedora accentuated the pallor of his coldly-chiselled aquiline features and the blackness of his extraordinary eyes. His every item of dress—his tie with the tiny, scintillating white diamond pin, his white cuffs just peeping from the sleeves, his shoes—had a distinctive correctness. But his carriage was of the easy, confident grace of one more used to the wide spaces of the North than the over-heated drawing-rooms of the East. He evidently scorned a walking-stick, for in his long, capable-looking hands he carried only his gloves and a black travelling-bag.
Young women clerks glanced up from their tasks to stare pensively at the stranger. Young men bit enviously at their nether lips as they mentally conceded the physical perfection of the visitor. There were whispered asides. It seemed he was not altogether unknown among the older members of the staff.
The newcomer went direct to the quarters of the bank’s president. In the outer office the president’s secretary rose deferentially and opened the door to the inner sanctum. “Sir David will see you at once, Mr. Smith,” he announced.
A lean grey man with alert grey eyes and a drooping grey moustache arose and proffered his hand across the glass-topped desk. “We received your wire and were expecting you, Mr. Smith.”
“I was glad to find you were not out of town, Sir David,” returned the other, “for the matter I wish to see you about is rather pressing and important.”
“When you favour us with one of your rare personal calls it usually is so,” smilingly reminded the banker.
“This time, nevertheless,” insisted Acey Smith, “it may prove more than an ordinary surprise for you.”
And an hour and a half later when Sir David Edwards-Jones, president of the Regal Bank of Canada, had gone over the papers and documents in the black grip with Acey Smith and their business interview was ended, the perplexity that sat upon his usually imperturbable features was proof of the other’s prediction.