Simon Lock proceeded from the restaurant to the offices of Gaunt and Griffiths. He demanded to see Mr. Gaunt, the venerable head of the firm, and Mr. Gaunt kept him, Simon Lock, waiting ten minutes! Simon Lock had not suffered such an insult for years. At his name the most obdurate doors were accustomed to open instantly. ‘Well, Mr. Gaunt,’ he said, with an affectation of breezy familiarity, when at length he was admitted, ‘I’ve just called about the matter of those Princesse shares. How many can you offer?’ ‘We can offer ten thousand, Mr. Lock.’ ‘At thirty-five?’ ‘At thirty-five.’ ‘That means three hundred and fifty thousand pounds for your holding?’ ‘Exactly.’ ‘Don’t you wish you may get it, Mr. Gaunt? Eh! eh!’ He laughed gaily, but suddenly it occurred to him that his laugh sounded hollow and foolish, and he stopped. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Mr. Gaunt gravely. ‘I mean,’ said Simon Lock lamely, ‘that the price is, of course, a fancy one. You know the market is a bit tight, and you’re playing a game. You’ll take less than thirty-five if you really want to sell.’ ‘Our firm is not in the habit of playing games, Mr. Lock. And, by the way, your last words bring us to the point. You say “if we really want to sell.” The fact is, we don’t want to sell. You will remember that it was you who came first to us to ask if we had any shares to offer. We made inquiries, and found some. Our clients----’ ‘Would you mind telling me,’ Simon Lock interrupted, ‘who your clients are?’ ‘It would be useless for you to approach them personally,’ said Mr. Gaunt. ‘I don’t want to approach them personally. I shall not dream of such a breach of etiquette,’ said Simon Lock, with an assumed fervour of righteousness. ‘I merely wanted to know, out of curiosity.’ ‘I regret that I cannot satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Lock.’ ‘Then that is your last word, Mr. Gaunt--ten thousand at thirty-five?’ A boy entered with a telegram, which Mr. Gaunt perused slowly through his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘No,’ said Mr. Gaunt; ‘I regret to say---at forty. I have just received further instructions by telegraph.’ He waved the telegram in the air. Simon Lock’s face grew ugly, and he spoke with ominous coldness. ‘Someone seems disposed to make fun of me, Mr. Gaunt,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who it is, but I shall find out; and when I do find out, there will be trouble for that someone. I’ll let this cursed city know that Simon Lock is not to be trifled with.’ ‘Good-day,’ said Mr. Gaunt calmly. [Illustration: 0232] Simon Lock went out furious. On the pavement outside he met the office-boy who had brought in the telegram to Mr. Gaunt. ‘Where are you going to, my boy?’ asked Simon Lock kindly. ‘To the post-office, sir,’ said the boy. ‘So am I. Now would you like to earn a couple of sovereigns easily?’ Simon Lock inquired. ‘Yes, sir,’ said the boy, and added, ‘if it’s all square. Sovereigns ain’t flying about, you know.’