This individual was about fifty years of age. In person he was short, thin, and by no means prepossessing in countenance. His eyes were deeply set, grey, and restless; and his forehead was contracted into a thousand wrinkles. He was dressed in a suit of black, and wore a white neckcloth—no doubt to enhance the respectability of his appearance. This was, however, a difficult task; for had he figured in the dock of a criminal tribunal, the jury would have had no trouble in coming to a verdict, a more hang-dog countenance being seldom seen, even in a city where the face is so often the mirror of the mind.
"Ah! Mr. Greenwood," exclaimed Mr. Pennywhiffe, rising to welcome his visitor; "this is an unexpected honour. What can I do for you? Pray be seated; and speak plainly. There's no listeners here."
"I require your aid in a most important business," answered Greenwood, taking a chair, and throwing back his cloak. "To-morrow I must raise twenty or twenty-five thousand pounds, for three or four months—upon bills—good bills, Mr. Pennywhiffe."
"To be deposited?" asked that individual.
"To be deposited," replied Greenwood.
"Shall you withdraw them in time?"
"Decidedly. I will convert the money I shall thereby raise into a hundred thousand," exclaimed Greenwood.
"My commission will be heavy for such a business," observed Pennywhiffe; "and that, you know is ready money."
"I am aware of it, and am come provided. Name the amount you require."
"Will two hundred hurt you?" said Pennywhiffe. "Remember—the affair is a serious one."