At eight o’clock precisely the master took breakfast--an English breakfast: bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, marmalade--in the breakfast-room, a room of medium size opening off the library. He took it in solitude, for he could not tolerate the presence of servants so early in the morning, and he had neither wife nor family. He poured out his own coffee like one of his own clerks, and read his private letters propped up one by one against the coffee-pot, also like one of his own clerks. He looked at his watch as he drank the last drop of coffee. It was thirty-one minutes past eight. He walked quickly into the library. If Oakley had not been there Oakley would have caught it; but Oakley happened to be there, calmly opening envelopes with a small ivory paper-cutter. It was mainly in virtue of his faculty of always ‘being there’ that Oakley received a salary of six hundred a year. ‘Shall you go to Cannon Street this morning, sir?’ asked Oakley, a middle-aged man with the featureless face of a waiter in a large restaurant. ‘Why?’ ‘Sir Arthur Custer has telegraphed to know.’ ‘No.’ ‘I thought not, and have told him.’ ‘Umph!’ said the master, nettled, but not daring to say anything. Like many a man equally powerful, this Napoleon was in some ways in awe of his unexceptionable clerk. Oakley might easily get another master, but it was doubtful whether his employer could get another clerk equal to Oakley. ‘A light post this morning, sir,’ said Oakley. ‘Umph!’ said the master again. ‘Take down this letter, and have it sent off instantly: ‘“Richard Redgrave, Esq., 4, Adelphi Terrace. Dear Sir,--I shall be obliged if you can make it convenient to call on me this morning as early as possible at the above address. The bearer can bring you here in his cab.--Yours truly.”’ The letter was written, signed, and despatched. ‘Anything from Gaunt and Griffiths?’ asked the Napoleon. ‘Yes, sir.’ Oakley turned to a letter on large, thick, quarto paper. The stationery of this famous firm of stock-brokers--perhaps the largest firm, and certainly the firm with the cleanest record, on the Exchange--was always of an impressive type. ‘They say, “We are obliged by your favour of to-day’s date. We can offer a limited number of La Princesse shares at twenty-five. We shall be glad to have your acceptance or refusal before noon to-morrow.--Your obedient servants, Gaunt and Griffiths.”’ ‘Twenty-five!’ exclaimed the other. ‘They mean five. It’s a clerical error.’ ‘The amount is written out in words.’ ‘It’s a clerical error.’ ‘Doubtless, sir.’ Even now the Napoleon would not believe that misfortune, perhaps ruin, was at his door. He doggedly refused to face the fact. It seemed incredible, unthinkable, that anything could happen to him. So we all think until the crash comes. He plunged into the mass of general correspondence with a fine appearance of perfect calmness. But he could not deceive Mr. Oakley.