He walked gingerly amidst the debris of construction, asked no questions, made no replies to the explanations of the bewildered foreman, who wondered what fascination there was in a building job to bring an old man from his bed at three o’clock on a chill spring morning. Only once the old man spoke. “Where will that there pedestal be?” he asked in a harsh, cracked cockney voice; and when the foreman pointed out the spot, and the men even then busily filling in the foundation, the old man’s lips curled back in an ugly smile that showed teeth too white and regular for a man of his age. He said no more, but pulled the collar of his fur coat the tighter about his lean neck and walked wearily back to his carriage. The building saw Mr. Spedding’s client no more--if, indeed, it was Mr. Spedding’s client. So far as is known, he did not again visit Lombard Street before its completion--even when the last pane of glass had been fixed in the high gilded dome, when the last slab of marble had been placed in the ornate walls of the great hall, even when the solicitor came and stood in silent contemplation before the great granite pedestal that rose amidst a scaffolding of slim steel girders supporting a staircase that wound upward to the gigantic mid-air safe. Not quite alone, for with him was the contractor, awed to silence by the immensity of his creation. “Finished!” said the contractor, and his voice came echoing back from the dim spaces of the building. The solicitor did not answer. “Your client may commence business to-morrow if he wishes.” The solicitor turned from the pedestal. “He is not ready yet,” he said softly, as though afraid of the echoes. He walked to where the big steel doors of the hall stood ajar, the contractor following. In the vestibule he took two keys from his pocket. The heavy doors swung noiselessly across the entrance, and Mr. Spedding locked them. Through the vestibule and out into the busy street the two men walked, and the solicitor fastened behind him the outer doors. “My client asks me to convey his thanks to you for your expedition,” the lawyer said. The builder rubbed his hands with some satisfaction. “You have taken two days less than we expected,” Mr. Spedding went on. The builder was a man of few ideas outside his trade. He said again-- “Yes, your client may start business to-morrow.” The solicitor smiled. “My client, Mr. Potham, may not--er--start business--for ten years,” he said. “In fact, until--well, until he dies, Mr. Potham.” CHAPTER II THE HOUSE IN TERRINGTON SQUARE