"What about him?"
"He's starting a new night club."
"I don't care," said Mr. Carmody, who did not.
"It's just off Bond Street, in the heart of London's pleasure-seeking area. He's calling it the Hot Spot."
The only comment Mr. Carmody vouchsafed on this piece of information was a noise like another buffalo. His face was beginning to lose its vermilion tinge, and it seemed possible that in a few moments he might come off the boil.
"I had a letter from him this morning. He says he will give me a half share if I put up five hundred quid."
"Then you won't get a half share," predicted Mr. Carmody.
"But I've got five hundred. I mean to say, you're holding a lot more than that in trust for me."
"Holding," said Mr. Carmody, "is the right word."
"But surely you'll let me have this quite trivial sum for a really excellent business venture that simply can't fail? Ronnie knows all about night clubs. He's practically lived in them since he came down from Cambridge."