“Have you any letter from him to that effect—any written authority to do so?” “Even in the City we think a man’s word sufficient authority,” was the reply. “I do not know what code of honour may be observed among your relations, Mr. Stewart.” “It is best not to depend too much on honour,” answered that gentleman, coolly. “If Lord Kemms took it into his head, on his return home, to repudiate the transaction, do you know what would be the result?” “Our company would probably find itself in Queer Street,” replied Mr. Black; “but I am not afraid of that. Lord Kemms is not a man to back out of a promise, particularly if it can be made worth his while to keep it,” added the promoter, _sotto voce_. “I did not quite catch the last portion of your sentence,” remarked Mr. Stewart. “It was of no consequence—merely a passing reflection,” said Mr. Black. “I can show you Mr. Hope’s authority, and that of your nephew, Mr. Croft, if the sight would afford you any gratification.” “Thank you—they are of no consequence,” was the reply. “I should have liked to see Lord Kemms’, because, from ‘information I have received,’ I did not think his lordship would join us.” “He would not have joined us had Mr. Raidsford’s persuasion carried much weight.” “Indeed! Who is Mr. Raidsford—his confessor?” “Come, come, Mr. Stewart, do you think I am quite a simpleton?” demanded Mr. Black. “Do you imagine that piece of acting can take me in? I know who has been setting you against me—I know who has been putting you up to ask if the names are genuine—if permission to use them have really been given. You have not so long left Mr. Raidsford’s office as to have forgotten who and what he is; and I know who and what he is—a sneak and a toady, who has worked himself up from nothing with a smooth tongue and a spying nature. It was through tale-bearing he got on—perhaps it will be through tale-bearing he may get down.” “He is rich, then?”—this was interrogative. “Mr. Stewart,” said the promoter, desperately, “don’t you know all about Compton Raidsford, as well as I know about you? Don’t you know he is very rich—so rich that he would not touch shares in the Bank of England? Don’t you know he hates all companies—that having grubbed his own way up, he believes anybody else can grub up unassisted also? Don’t you know he is a prying, meddling, conceited, cursed upstart?” finished Mr. Black. “I cannot say that I do—in fact, I cannot say that I know the man at all,” answered Mr. Stewart.