Beyond the City - Page 69/92

"Is Mr. Smith or Mr. Hanbury in?" asked the Admiral.

"There ain't no such people," said the small boy.

"But you have the names on the door."

"Ah, that is the name of the firm, you see. It's only a name. It's Mr.

Reuben Metaxa that you wants."

"Well then, is he in?"

"No, he's not."

"When will he be back?"

"Can't tell, I'm sure. He's gone to lunch. Sometimes he takes one hour,

and sometimes two. It'll be two to-day, I 'spect, for he said he was

hungry afore he went."

"Then I suppose that we had better call again," said the Admiral.

"Not a bit," cried Charles. "I know how to manage these little imps. See

here, you young varmint, here's a shilling for you. Run off and fetch

your master. If you don't bring him here in five minutes I'll clump you

on the side of the head when you get back. Shoo! Scat!" He charged at

the youth, who bolted from the room and clattered madly down-stairs.

"He'll fetch him," said Charles. "Let us make ourselves at home.

This sofa does not feel over and above safe. It was not meant for

fifteen-stone men. But this doesn't look quite the sort of place where

one would expect to pick up money."

"Just what I was thinking," said the Admiral, looking ruefully about

him.

"Ah, well! I have heard that the best furnished offices generally belong

to the poorest firms. Let us hope it's the opposite here. They can't

spend much on the management anyhow. That pumpkin-headed boy was the

staff, I suppose. Ha, by Jove, that's his voice, and he's got our man, I

think!"

As he spoke the youth appeared in the doorway with a small, brown,

dried-up little chip of a man at his heels. He was clean-shaven and

blue-chinned, with bristling black hair, and keen brown eyes which shone

out very brightly from between pouched under-lids and drooping upper

ones. He advanced, glancing keenly from one to the other of his

visitors, and slowly rubbing together his thin, blue-veined hands. The

small boy closed the door behind him, and discreetly vanished.

"I am Mr. Reuben Metaxa," said the moneylender. "Was it about an advance

you wished to see me?"

"Yes."

"For you, I presume?" turning to Charles Westmacott.

"No, for this gentleman."

The moneylender looked surprised. "How much did you desire?"

"I thought of five thousand pounds," said the Admiral.

"And on what security?"

"I am a retired admiral of the British navy. You will find my name in

the Navy List. There is my card. I have here my pension papers. I get

L850 a year. I thought that perhaps if you were to hold these papers

it would be security enough that I should pay you. You could draw my

pension, and repay yourselves at the rate, say, of L500 a year, taking

your five per cent interest as well."