He went straight to the stockbroker's office, expecting simply to have to sign a paper or two, receive his quarterly cheque for £6 5s., cash it at the bank, and then go quietly home again. He was surprised when the clerk asked him to sit down. “I think Mr. Surtees wants to see you, Mr. Crowitzski,” he said, more politely than usual. “He will be disengaged in a few minutes, if you don't mind waiting. Oh, he's ready now”--as an electric bell rang three times. The old man followed the clerk upstairs to the first floor, where they paused outside a door marked “Private.” The clerk knocked softly. “Come in,” said a voice, and the clerk ushered the Professor into his master's presence. “Good morning, Professor Crowitzski!” said the stockbroker cheerily. “Come and sit down by the fire. You look cold. It's a fresh morning, though the wind is sou'-west!” He drew a leather-covered arm-chair forward as he spoke, gently pushed the Professor into it, and stationed himself on the hearthrug with his back to the fire and his hands behind his back. He was a fresh-faced, kindly-looking man of middle age, with humorous grey eyes, and gold spectacles, which gave him a benevolent expression. He had undertaken the management of the poor Professor's small investment for many years out of pure kindness of heart after hearing his tragic history from a common friend, since dead; but he had a task this morning that he did not relish. “Have you seen to-day's paper?” he began, looking keenly at his client. “No,” said the Professor. “I do not often see the paper. Is there any special news?” “Well--er--yes, I think so. News of some importance to a good many people, I'm afraid.” The old man looked up in a mildly inquiring way, and the stockbroker continued-- “Fact is, those beastly South Americans are kicking up a row amongst themselves again--quarrelsome beggars! They can't keep themselves quiet for long! And the worst of it is, they disturb us peaceful citizens here who only wish to lend them money to get on with!” A faint expression of interest began to dawn in the Professor's face. “I suppose,” he said, “you mean that the money market is influenced by this kind of thing. Does it make any difference to my little income?” Mr. Surtees turned round and poked the fire vigorously--an unnecessary proceeding; but the sight of that mild old face, and the knowledge of what he had to say, made it imperative that he should relieve his feelings somehow. “It's hard on the poor old chap,” he muttered to himself. “But it can't be helped!” He straightened himself, looked at his client, then out of the window, then into the fire. “Well, Professor,” he said slowly, “I am very sorry to say that all South American stocks and securities are very low in the market just now--in short, some of them have gone altogether. Clean gone!”