The other man, Isaac Solomon by name, might have been any age from forty to sixty. He was lean and angular, with features of a pronounced Hebraic cast and a pair of beady black eyes that conveyed the impression of mingled cunning and humour. His upper lip was shaven, but he wore a beard which, like the few remaining hairs upon his head, was of a dingy grey colour.
This oddly assorted pair were seated in a small room, half parlour, half office, at the rear of the premises wherein Mr. Solomon carried on the business of ship-chandler. The one window, partly shuttered to keep out the fierce glare of the sun, looked out upon Singapore Harbour, with its forest of masts and busy fleet of small craft darting to and fro across the sparkling, unruffled surface of the water.
"That good enough for you, Solomon?" inquired Captain Calamity, tapping the parchment.
"Vell——" the other paused and meditatively rubbed the palms of his long, skinny hands together. "I suppose," he went on hesitatingly, "it is all O.K.; genuine—eh?"
"What; this letter of authority?"
Mr. Solomon nodded in a deprecating, half-apologetic sort of way.
"I thought that the British Government did not issue any Letters of——"
"Listen!" interrupted his companion, snatching up the document. "'In the name and on the behalf of His Britannic Majesty, King George the Fifth——'"
He stopped abruptly and, pushing the parchment across the table with an impatient gesture, pointed to a signature just above the large red seal.
"Look at that," he said.