Mr. Toft now had leisure to take stock of his surroundings. J. Driver was a dark-haired man with a bold, clean-shaven chin. His voice was deep and emphatic, and his eye was piercing. He was broad and muscular, and would probably be a good boxer, thought Mr. Toft. He glanced at the drinkers at the other tables, but finding their eyes were fixed stolidly on him he looked elsewhere. He had noticed eyes and noses--that was all. "Now to business," said Mr. Driver. "You know my name, and I know yours. That's where we're equal. You're in a beastly hole, and I aren't. That's where the difference comes in." "I don't understand," said Mr. Toft. "In fact, I haven't the faintest idea what you are alluding to." "Garn," said J. Driver, with a dig in the ribs that made him jump. "Garn! you old dodger. What about Government contracts?" "What about them?" asked Mr. Toft, shrinking from his familiarity. "What about them?" echoed the other. "What about work you never did, for which you've got false receipts? What about contracts executed with inferior stuff? What about commissions to officials, tips to men, and plunder all round?" Mr. Toft paled at this catalogue of his business achievements. "You are misinformed," he said. "My firm does not do such things." J. Driver thrust his tongue into his cheek. "Then how did you get your contracts, Septimus?" he asked. "By honest competition in the open market," replied Mr. Toft loftily. Mr. Driver laughed derisively. "Lord!" he said at last, "I wish I had your artless style. Stick to it, Mister, in the prisoner's dock. It may pull you through." "I presume you haven't asked me here simply for the purpose of insulting me?" said Mr. Toft, with some dignity. "What a man you are!" Mr. Driver replied, with unstinted admiration. "You must be a thought-reader, Septimus--a bloomin' thought-reader. You're quite right; I haven't. I've come for the loan of a key, and one of your visitin' cards." "A key?" said Mr. Toft, relieved, though much surprised. "The key of the plate chest of the Fellmongers' Company." Mr. Toft raised his eyebrows. "You're joking," he said. "Do I look like a joker?" replied his companion fiercely. "Do I look like a joker?" he repeated loudly, banging his fist on the table so that all turned their eyes in the direction of the noise. Mr. Toft implored him to restrain his feelings. "Don't rouse 'em then!" said the man. "Have you got the key on you?" "Er--yes," responded Mr. Toft. "Then hand it over." "My dear sir," began the unhappy Septimus. "I'm not your dear anything," said the other; "so don't you pretend that I am. I'm as meek and pleasant as a cow to those that treat me fair and square, but when I'm irritated I'm a roarin' bull. Hand me the key." "I can't." "You can't. Right'o!" said Mr. Driver, rising. "At present the Admiralty only suspect. To-morrow they'll know, and you'll know too, Septimus Toft, when you get five years without the option of a fine."