So Mr. Ilam said merely, in a sort of pained surprise: “Jetsam!” “Exactly,” said Jetsam. And the imperturbable fellow, with his grey hair and his shabby suit and his weary eyes, nonchalantly sat down on the edge of one of the counting-tables, his legs dangling, and his body leaning forward. The two employés were by this time convinced that the new-comer must be either the Shah of Persia in disguise, or else some extremely intimate and life-long friend of Ilam’s, perhaps richer than Ilam himself. The bank-clerk knew by sight several chairmen of banks who were quite as badly dressed as the man on the table. Nevertheless, they did not carry revolvers. The revolver was certainly rather disquieting. However, they bent to their work, as though both eyes of the Recording Angel were upon them. Ilam closed the door of the safe. “The doorkeeper let you pass?” he ventured. “No, not at all,” replied Jetsam. “He isn’t at his post?” “Not just at the moment. I’ve had him removed for a bit. He’ll doubtless return as soon as I’ve gone. I thought it would be simpler to have my own doorkeeper.” “What did the Soudanese say, though?” “Which Soudanese?” “The Soudanese who is outside the door.” “Oh, him? He didn’t say anything.” “This is a serious breach of rules for you to be here, you know,” said Ilam. “And I must ask you to go.” “I really can’t go just yet,” said Jetsam. “What are you doing here?” “Nothing,” said Jetsam; “except nursing this revolver. I’m going to do something soon.” Both the bank-clerk and Mr. Gloucester looked up. They even went so far as to glance at their employer for instructions; but their employer seemed to avoid the eyes of the underlings. Then Mr. Gloucester spoke in a low tone to the clerk, and the clerk replied, and some bags of gold were bundled into a coffer and the coffer locked and double-locked, and the bank-clerk murmured respectfully: “These are the lot, sir. Shall I take them and go?” “Yes,” said Ilam. “Will you help me?” said the clerk to Mr. Gloucester. “Yes,” said Mr. Gloucester. And Mr. Gloucester and the clerk each picked up several coffers. “Good-night, sir,” said the clerk. “Good-night,” said Ilam. “Stop that!” Jetsam exclaimed, turning his head slowly behind him to follow the movements of the pair. “I beg pardon?” murmured the clerk interrogatively. “I thought I told you to go to the other end of the room,” thundered Jetsam. “But Mr. Ilam----” “Go to the other end of the room, up there at that corner,” Jetsam commanded sternly, adding, “or I’ll blow your idiotic brains out! Do you hear?”