"You certainly do business on a large scale, Mr. Northcote," I said. "Do you pay in cash?"
For an answer, he thrust his hand into an inside pocket and pulled out a leather case. This he opened, extracting four bank-notes, which he laid on the table.
"Here are two thousand pounds," he said quietly. "If you accept, I will give you a cheque for the remainder."
I looked at the notes with that respectful interest that one keeps for distinguished strangers. There was no doubt that they were genuine. Then, with some deliberation, I also lit a cigarette.
"It must be a very unpleasant job," I said regretfully.
For the first time since I had met him, my companion laughed. It was a grim, mirthless sort of laugh, however, not in the least suggestive of encouragement.
"Yes," he said dryly: "if I threw it open to competition, I fancy that the entries would be small." Then he paused. "Before I go any further," he added, "will you give me your word of honour to keep what I am going to say entirely private, whether you decline or accept?"
"Certainly," I said, without hesitation.
"Very well." Again he stopped for a moment apparently hesitating over a choice of words. "Within a few days," he said slowly, "unless I take certain steps, there is every likelihood of my being a dead man."
I thought of the little incident on the Embankment, and I felt that he was speaking the truth.