Certain of his particular cronies had organized a small supper at a middle-class restaurant on the previous night in honor of his return, and as a natural consequence Mr. Benjamin Levy walked down the Strand at about half-past ten on the following morning, on his way to the office, a little paler than usual, and with a suspicion of a "head." It would have suited him very much better to have remained in bed for an hour or two, and risen towards afternoon; but business was business, and it must be attended to. So he tried to banish the effects of the bad champagne imbibed on the previous night with a stiff glass of brandy and soda, and lighting a fresh cigarette, turned off the Strand and made his way to the office.
"Guv'nor in?" he inquired of the solitary clerk, a sharp-featured, Jewish-looking young man, who was sitting on a high stool with his hands in his pockets, apparently unburdened with stress of work.
The youth nodded, and jerked his head backwards.
"Something's up!" he remarked laconically; "he's on the rampage."
Mr. Benjamin passed on without remark, and entered the inner office. It was easy indeed to see that something had gone wrong. Mr. Levy was walking restlessly up and down, with a newspaper in his hand, and muttering to himself in a disturbed manner. At his son's entrance he stopped short, and looked at him angrily.
"Benjamin, my boy," he said, rustling the paper before his face, "you've been made a fool of. Scotland Yard have licked us!"
Mr. Benjamin yawned, and tilted his hat on the back of his head.
"What's up now, guv'nor?" he inquired.
His father laid the paper flat on the desk before him, and pointed to one of the paragraphs with trembling fingers.
"Read that! Read that!" he exclaimed.