"Shall I order the car, Sir George?"
"No; I'll take a cab."
A shrill whistle brought a taxi-cab to the door.
A passing commissionaire stopped to ask the cabman which was the nearest way to Berkeley Square as the banker came down the two steps of the house.
"Meggioli's," he instructed the cabman, and added, "the Vine Street entrance."
The commissionaire stood back respectfully as the whining taxi jerked forward.
"Meggioli's!" murmured the commissionaire, "and by the private door! That's rum. I wonder whether Van Ingen has started for Cornwall yet?"
He walked into St. James's Square, and a smart one-horse brougham, that had been idly moving round the circle of garden in the centre, pulled up at the curb by his side.
"Meggioli's—front entrance," said the commissionaire.
It was a uniformed man who entered the carriage; it was T. B. Smith in his well-fitting dress clothes who emerged at Meggioli's.