"Always so downright, my dear Aaron," he murmured, "so material! However, you have asked the question and here is my answer. I am proposing to remain in London for some little time. There are various schemes which have suggested themselves to me, which might readily lead to an enlargement of my income. For their prosecution, my dear Aaron, I need one, only one companion whom I can trust, one man who is out for the big things. That is why I come to you. I offer you a partnership in the concern--Harvey Grimm and Rodd, Traffickers in Fate, Dealers in Adventures. How your hand shakes, man! There, you've dropped the ash from your cigar!" Aaron Rodd's thin lips were quivering. His eyes seemed full of unutterable things. "I have made such a fight of it," he muttered. "You've got me, though, Harvey. I've eaten my last crust. I should have had to sell my office stool for a meal to-morrow." His friend shook his head genially. "My dear Aaron," he protested, "such a confession from a man of brains, when one considers how the world is overrun with fools, is a terrible one." "One has a conscience," Rodd sighed, "and a profession like mine doesn't lend itself to crooked dealing." Harvey Grimm smiled tolerantly. He had the air of one listening to a child. "The wolves of the world," he said, "keep their conscience, and as regards wrong-doing, it's just success that makes the difference.... My dear fellow!" he broke off, looking up into the face of a man who had paused at their table and whose hand was now reposing heavily upon his shoulder. "My dear Brodie, this is most opportune. Let me present you to my friend, Mr. Aaron Rodd. Aaron, this is Mr. Brodie--in the language of the cinemas," he added, dropping his voice a little and leaning forward, "the sleuthhound of Europe, the greatest living detective." Aaron Rodd sat for a moment motionless, the cigar slipped from his fingers on to the plate. All his new hopes seemed crumbling away. His eyes were fixed upon the hand which gripped his companion's shoulder. Harvey Grimm began to laugh softly. "Cheer up, my pessimistic friend!" he exclaimed. "This isn't the grip of the law which is upon my shoulder. Mr. Brodie and I are friends--I might even say allies." Aaron Rodd recovered himself and murmured a few words of mechanical greeting. The new-comer meanwhile took the chair which the waiter had offered him. He was a tall, burly man, clean-shaven, with steely grey eyes, and grey hair brushed back from his forehead. His manner was consequential, his tone patronising. "So this is our third hand, eh?" "Guessed it in one with your usual astuteness," Harvey Grimm acknowledged cheerfully. "A lawyer of unblemished character, not momentarily affluent, with the principles of a latitudinarian." "Has he got the nerve?" Mr. Brodie demanded. "If we are on the right track, there's no room for weaklings in the job."