CHAPTER VIII. ONE CONSPIRATOR DEFEATED.
"How do you do, Master Grant? I am pleased to see you," exclaimed the newcomer. "And Master Nattie here is still the same good-looking lad as of old. Is this the new member of the firm? The old company has called in native blood, eh? Well, it is not a bad idea."
Disregarding the cold stare of surprise given him by Grant, the speaker seated himself in a comfortable chair and gazed blandly around the office. He was a man of extreme attenuation of features, and restless, shifting eyes. He was modestly clad in a dark suit of English tweed, and carried the conventional cane of bamboo.
For a moment there was an awkward silence, then Nattie laughed—a short, curt laugh, which brought a perceptible flush to Round's sunken cheeks.
"So you are our old bookkeeper after all?" said the lad, with a sly wink at Mori.
"Yes, I am inclined to believe so," replied the visitor, airily. "I have an explanation to make about that little incident, my boy. D'ye see, I returned from London by way of India yesterday morning. I had my reasons for arriving incog., therefore I denied myself to you this afternoon. As the cat is out of the bag now, I'll tell you all about it."
He paused and glanced at his auditors. Nothing daunted by their evident coldness, he resumed, in the same light manner:
"I had a little deal on with the government here and certain people in England, and I came over to push it through. Remembering the firm of Black & Company, I went to them first. The interview was not satisfactory, however. Hearing that you had resumed your father's business. I lost no time in coming here. Am I right in believing that you are open for valuable contracts?"
Both Nattie and Mori instinctively left the conversation to Grant. In a matter of business, he was the proper person, they well knew. The lame youth leaned back in his chair, and eyed the visitor with extreme gravity.
"So you are here to do business with us, Mr. Round?" he asked, slowly.