Mr. Soames rose to the occasion.
"I assure you, Mr. Tibbetts," he said earnestly, "it is possible. It wants a little more capital than we've been able to raise."
This was the trouble with all Mr. Soames's companies, a long list of which appeared on a brass plate by the side of his door. None of them were sufficiently capitalised to do anything except to supply him with his fees as managing director.
Bones produced a dinky little pocket-book from his waistcoat and read his notes, or, rather, attempted to read his notes. Presently he gave it up and trusted to his memory.
"You've got forty thousand pounds subscribed to your Company," he said. "Now, I'll tell you what I'm willing to do—I will take over your shares at a price."
Mr. Soames swallowed hard. Here was one of the dreams of his life coming true.
"There are four million shares issued," Bones went on, consulting his notebook.
"Eh?" said Mr. Soames in a shocked voice.
Bones looked at his book closer.
"Is it four hundred thousand?"