“Yes, yes, of course I am. Go on—interesting career. Who is he? What does he do?”
Sir Garth, as other and lesser men, liked to tell his story in his own way. He paid no attention to the questions.
“As I was saying, he didn’t settle down to a life of promenades and old ladies at Cheltenham; he set up as a bold bad company promoter—and with no mean success.”
“Who is he?—What’s his name?” repeated Hessel.
“Lorne. Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, K.C.B., K.C. This and K.C. That. He asked me to . . .”
But his companion had stopped.
“Look here, Fratten,” he said. “What is this? What is the confession? I can’t hear you in this racket. Come down here.”
He took his companion’s arm and pulled him into an alley-way that led through towards Lombard Street. It was comparatively quiet after the roar of the traffic in Cornhill.
“What on earth is this story?” repeated Hessel, with a note of agitation in his voice.
“I’ll tell you if you’ll give me half a chance. He’s Chairman of a Finance Company—the Victory Finance Company, I think he called it. . . . He has asked me to join his Board. He thinks my name would be a help—I suppose it would. Apparently they’re thinking of extending their scope; they . . .”