“Dinner,” said he. “I’m not ready for it yet. Fetch me a whisky and soda—look here, tell Mr. Church I want to see him.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Jones, as stated before, possessed that very rare attitude—an eye for men. It was quite unknown to him; up to this he had been condemned to take men as he found them; the pressure of circumstances alone had made him a business partner with Aaron Stringer. He had never trusted Stringer. Now, being in a position of command, he began to use this precious gift, and he selected Church for a first officer. He wanted a henchman.
The whisky and soda arrived, and, almost immediately on it, Church.
Jones, placing the half empty glass on the table, nodded to him.
“Come in,” said he, “and shut the door.”
Church closed the door and stood at attention. This admirable man’s face was constructed not with a view to the easy interpretation of emotions. I doubt if an earthquake in Carlton House Terrace and the vicinity could have altered the expression of it.
He stood as if listening.
Jones began: “I want you to go to-morrow at eight o’clock to No. 12B Jermyn Street to get some documents for me. They will be handed to you by A. S. Voles.”