Richard’s usual mode of life was extremely simple. His office, a single small room, was on the third-floor of No. 4, Adelphi Terrace. On the fourth-floor he had a bedroom, rather larger than the office, and quite commodious enough for the uses of a young bachelor who had no fancy tastes. When occasion needed he used the office as a sitting-room. All his meals he took out of doors. His breakfasts, which cost him fourpence, he consumed at a vegetarian restaurant hard by; his luncheons and dinners were eaten at Gatti’s. Frequently at the latter establishment he would be content with a dish of macaroni and half a pint of bitter, at an expenditure of eightpence--a satisfying repast. His total expenses were thus very small, and hence, although his income was irregular and fluctuating, he nevertheless continually saved money. It was seldom that less than one hundred pounds stood between him and the workhouse. In case of necessity he could have lived for a whole year, or even two years, on one hundred pounds. So he was always in an independent position. He could always afford not to bend the knee to any employer or client. He was, in fact, just what he looked, a shrewd and confident man, successful and well dressed, who knew how to take care of himself. He spent more on his wardrobe than on anything else, and this, not because he was a coxcomb, but from purely commercial motives. He accepted the world as he found the world, and he had learnt that clothes counted. All afternoon he did nothing but idle about in his office, wondering whether by that time Lord Dolmer had told Simon Lock of the barren result of his inquiries, and wondering also what the upshot of their interview would be. At seven he dined at Gatti’s. At eight he returned to Adelphi Terrace, and ascended directly to his bedroom. Opening the window wide, he placed an easy-chair in front of it, lighted a pipe, and sat down to perpend upon things in general. Richard had chosen this bedroom because of its view. It looked out at an angle on the river Thames, stateliest and most romantic of busy streams. It is doubtful if any capital in Europe, unless it be Buda-Pesth, the twin city on the blue Danube, can show a scene equal in beauty to the Thames Embankment and the Thames when the hues and mysteries of sunset are upon them. This particular evening was more than commonly splendid, for after a day of heavy rain the clouds had retreated, and the sun burst out in richest radiance. The red jury-sails of the barges as they floated up-stream with the flowing tide took on the tints of the ruby. The vast masonry of Waterloo Bridge and of Somerset House seemed like gigantic and strange temples uncannily suspended over the surface of the glooming water. In the west Westminster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament stood silhouetted in profound black against the occidental sky. The sky was like Joseph’s coat there, but in the east it was like a maiden’s scarf.