Soames raised his head drearily; he felt himself in the toils; he felt himself a mined man.
“It isn't a salary,” he began, “which”...
“My dear Mr. Soames,” said Gianapolis, tapping him confidentially upon the knee again—“my dear Soames, it isn't the salary, I admit, which you enjoyed whilst in the services of Colonel Hewett in a similar capacity. But this is not a large establishment, and the duties are light. Furthermore, there will be—extras.”
“Extras?”
Mr. Soames' eye brightened, and under the benignant influence of the cocktails his courage began to return.
“I do not refer,” smiled Mr. Gianapolis, “to perquisites! The extras will be monetary. Another two pounds per week”...
“Two pounds!”
“Bringing your salary up to a nice round figure; the additional amount will be paid to you from another source. You will receive the latter payment quarterly”...
“From—from”...
“From me!” said Mr. Gianapolis, smiling radiantly. “Now, I know you are going to accept; that is understood between us. I will give you the address—Palace Mansions, Westminster—at which you must apply; and I will tell you what little services will be required from you in return for this additional emolument.”