“Sakes! Then I guess I’ll not be able to connect.”
“Clever if you do, missy, take it from me.”
Mame slowly adjusted her thinking cap. She regarded herself as the possessor of a natural business head. And in the matter of her rights she did not believe in quitting too early.
She addressed the bailiff sternly. “Who you acting for?”
“The debenture holders.”
“I don’t get you. Who are they anyways?”
The man produced a wad of greasy-looking papers from the interior of his coat. He moistened his thumb, selected a dirty card and handed it to Mame. “Them’s the solicitors.”
“Messrs. Ackerman, Barton and Profitt,” the card informed Mame.
“That’s the firm. Their office is just acrost the road in Chawncery Lane.”
Mame thanked the roughneck for his information and then obtained permission to keep the card. The address might come in useful. All the same there was nothing at the moment to lead one to suppose that it would.