'If my becoming the possessor of that coin is contingent on my doing what you require, then it can't be done. There's an etiquette in my profession which on me is binding.'
'Your sentiments do you credit, Mr.----'
'FitzHoward; Augustus FitzHoward is my name, sir. But I tell you what might be managed. If you're here on Saturday night when Mr. Babbacombe wakes, I might arrange to introduce you to him. But you will have to remember, sir, that Mr. Babbacombe is a public man, and that to him, as to me, time is money.'
'If I do come I shall not fail to bear it well in mind.' The coin changed hands. 'You will not forget me?'
'No, sir, I shall not. What name?'
'What name? You say yours is FitzHoward. Well, mine is Smith; John Smith.'
There was a twinkle in Mr. FitzHoward's eye which suggested that he was more of a humorist than might at first appear.
'Smith? An unusual name like that, sir, is not likely to escape my recollection. You may rely on me.'
Some other people entered, two women and two men. They were followed by still more. Mr. Augustus FitzHoward and I parted. I went out into the main building. One thing seemed tolerably certain: 'Montagu Babbacombe,' unless appearances were even more deceptive than usual, could hardly have been conscious of my recognition, if recognition it really was. On that point I had until Saturday night to think things over. Practically two clear days.