A. S. Voles, money lender and bill discounter, lived over his business. That is to say his office was his dining room. He owned the house in Jermyn Street. Jones, dismissing the taxi, rang the bell and was admitted by a man servant, who, not sure whether Mr. Voles was in or not, invited the visitor into a small room on the right of the entrance hall and closed the door on him. The room contained a desk table, three chairs, a big scale map of London, a Phoenix Insurance Almanac, and a photogravure reproduction of Mona Lisa. The floor was covered with linoleum, and the window gave upon a blank wall. This was the room where creditors and stray visitors had to wait. Jones took a chair and looked about him. Humanity may be divided into three classes: those who, having seen, adore, those who tolerate, and those who detest Mona Lisa. Jones detested her. That leery, sleery, slippery, poisonous face was hateful to him as the mask of a serpent. He was looking at the lady when the door opened and in came Voles. Voles looked yellower and older this morning, but his face showed nothing of resentment. The turning of the Earl of Rochester upon him had been the one great surprise of his life. He had always fancied that he knew character, and his fancy was not ill founded. His confidence in himself had been shaken. "Good morning," said Jones. "I have come to have a little talk with you." "Sit down," said Voles. They seated themselves, Voles before the desk. "I haven't come to fight," said Jones, "just to talk. You known that Marcus Mulhausen has got that Welsh land from me for five thousand, and that it is worth maybe a million now." Voles nodded. "Well, Mulhausen has to give that property back." Voles laughed. "You needn't laugh. You have seen my rough side. I'm holding the smooth towards you now--but there is no occasion to laugh. I'm going to skin Mulhausen." "Well," said Voles. "What have I to do with that?" "You are the knife." "Oh!" "Yes, indeed. Let's talk. When you got that eight thousand from me, you were only the agent of the Plinlimon woman, and she was only the agent of Marcus. She got something, you got something, but Marcus got the most. Julian got something too, but it was Marcus got the joints. He gave you three the head, and the hoofs, and the innards, and the tail. I've had it out with the Plinlimon woman and I know. You were a gang." Voles heaved up in his chair. "What more have you to say?" asked he thickly. "A lot. There is nothing more difficult to get at than a gang, because they cover each other's traces. I pay you a certain sum in cash, you deduct your commission and hand the remainder over to the Plinlimon woman, she pays her Pa, and gets a few hundred to pay her milliner. Who's to prove anything? No cheques have passed." "Just so," said Voles. "I'm glad you see my point," replied Jones. "Now if you can't untie a knot, you can always cut it if you have a knife--can't you?" Voles shrugged his shoulders.