The stranger nodded, but, before he answered, he finished his second cotelette, poured out some wine—for his breakfast disdained the more effeminate luxuries of tea and coffee—popped a piece of ice in, and drank it. "Have you heard of the house of Hardcastle and Co.?" he asked, in a tone meant only for Mr. Dundyke's ear.
"The East India merchants?" exclaimed the latter.
The stranger nodded again.
"Of course I have heard of them: who has not? A firm of incalculable influence, sir; could buy up half London. What of them?"
"Do you know the partners personally?"
"Never saw any of them in my life," replied Mr. Dundyke. "They are top-sawyers, they are; a move or two above us city tea-folks. Perhaps you have the honour of being a clerk in the house, sir?"
"I am Mr. Hardcastle," observed the stranger, smiling.
"Bless my soul, sir!" cried the startled Mr. Dundyke. "I'm sure I beg pardon for my familiarity. But stop—eh—I thought——"
"Thought what?" asked the stranger, for Mr. Dundyke came to a pause.