We opened the door and entered. A middle-aged man, dark and with Jewish features, was sitting writing at a desk. There was no one else in the room, which was quite a small one. He glanced at us both carelessly enough, and leaned back in his chair.
"Good morning, Mr. Magg!" Guest said.
"Good morning, gentlemen!" Mr. Magg answered.
"You do not by chance remember me, I suppose?" Guest said.
A faint smile parted the lips of the gentleman in the chair. He rather avoided looking at us, but seemed to be glancing through the letter which he had just been writing.
"I never forget a face—and I never remember one—unnecessarily," he answered. "It is the A B C of my profession. To-day I believe that it is Mr. Guest, and his friend Mr. Courage, whom I have the pleasure of greeting."
For once Guest's face lost its immovability of expression. Even his tone betrayed his admiration.
"Wonderful as ever, my dear sir!" he exclaimed.
"Not in the least," Mr. Magg replied. "I know of your presence here very simply. Yesterday I cabled my refusal to accept a commission on the other side."
"They sent to you?" Guest exclaimed in a low tone.