A half-caste clerk to whom he had entrusted his card returned from the inner office.
“Mr. Tudsley will see you, sir.”
Martin followed him into a darkened office, cooled by an electric fan, where a white-clad, gaunt, yellow-faced Englishman sat at a desk. The clerk closed the door and retired. The yellow-faced Englishman rose and smiled, after glancing at Martin’s card on the desk before him.
“Mr. Overshaw? What can I do for you?”
“You can give me some work,” said Martin.
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” said Martin. “I must apologise for troubling you.”
He was about to withdraw. Mr. Tudsley glanced at him shrewdly.
“Wait a minute. Sit down. I don’t seem to place you. Who are you and where do you come from?”
“That’s my name,” said Martin, pointing to his card, “and I have just arrived from Europe, or to be more exact, from Egypt.”