Maddox greeted him genially, but Philip cut him short.
“I want you to act for me,” he whispered, “and act quick! I want you to buy for me one thousand shares of the Royal Mail Line, of the Elder-Dempster, and of the Union Castle.”
He heard Maddox laugh indulgently.
“There's nothing in that yarn of a combine,” he called. “It has fallen through. Besides, shares are at fifteen pounds.”
Philip, having in his possession a second-class ticket and a five-pound note, was indifferent to that, and said so.
“I don't care what they are,” he shouted. “The combine is already signed and sealed, and no one knows it but myself. In an hour everybody will know it!”
“What makes you think you know it?” demanded the broker.
“I've seen the house-flags!” cried Philip. “I have—do as I tell you,” he commanded.
There was a distracting delay.
“No matter who's back of you,” objected Maddox, “it's a big order on a gamble.”