"Mr. Maraton," his visitor began, "I thank you very much for your courtesy, but I have nothing to do with the Press. My name is Beldeman. I have come to Manchester especially to see you."
Maraton nodded.
"We are strangers, I believe?" he asked.
"Strangers personally. No thinking man to-day is a stranger to Mr.
Maraton in any other way."
"You are very kind," Maraton replied. "What can I do for you?"
Beldeman glanced towards the door so as to be sure that it was closed.
"Mr. Maraton," he enquired, "are you a bad-tempered man?"
"At times," Maraton admitted.
"I regret to see," his visitor proceeded, "that you are a man of superior physique to mine. I am here to make you an offer which you may consider an insult. If you are a narrow, ordinary Englishman, obstinate, with cast-iron principles and the usual prejudices, you will probably try to throw me down-stairs. It is part of my living to run the risk of being thrown down-stairs."
"I will do my best," Maraton promised him, "to restrain myself. You have at least succeeded in exciting my curiosity."