He found Mr. Gianapolis to be a little and very swarthy man, who held his head so low as to convey the impression of having a pronounced stoop; a man whose well-cut clothes and immaculate linen could not redeem his appearance from a constitutional dirtiness. A jet black mustache, small, aquiline features, an engaging smile, and very dark brown eyes, viciously crossed, made up a personality incongruous with his sheltering silk hat, and calling aloud for a tarboosh and a linen suit, a shop in a bazaar, or a part in the campaign of commercial brigandage which, based in the Levant, spreads its ramifications throughout the Orient, Near and Far. Mr. Gianapolis had the suave speech and smiling manner. He greeted Soames not as one greets a prospective servant, but as one welcomes an esteemed acquaintance. Following a brief chat, he proposed an adjournment to a neighboring saloon bar; and there, over cocktails, he conversed with Mr. Soames as one crook with another. Soames was charmed, fascinated, yet vaguely horrified; for this man smilingly threw off the cloak of hypocrisy from his companion's shoulders, and pretended, with the skill of his race, equally to nudify his own villainy. “My dear Mr. Soames!” he said, speaking almost perfect English, but with the sing-song intonation of the Greek, and giving all his syllables an equal value--“you are the man I am looking for; and I can make your fortune.” This was entirely in accordance with Mr. Soames' own views, and he nodded, respectfully. “I know,” continued Gianapolis, proffering an excellent Egyptian cigarette, “that you were cramped in your last situation--that you were misunderstood”... Soames, cigarette in hand, suppressed a start, and wondered if he were turning pale. He selected a match with nervous care. “The little matter of the silver spoons,” continued Gianapolis, smiling fraternally, “was perhaps an error of judgment. Although”--patting the startled Soames upon the shoulder--“they were a legitimate perquisite; I am not blaming you. But it takes so long to accumulate a really useful balance in that petty way. Now”--he glanced cautiously about him--“I can offer you a post under conditions which will place you above the consideration of silver spoons!” Soames, hastily finishing his cocktail, sought for words; but Gianapolis, finishing his own, blandly ordered two more, and, tapping Soames upon the knee, continued: “Then that matter of the petty cash, and those trifling irregularities in the wine-bill, you remember?--when you were with Colonel Hewett in Nice?”... Soames gripped the counter hard, staring at the newly arrived cocktail as though it were hypnotizing him. “These little matters,” added Gianapolis, appreciatively sipping from his own glass, “which would weigh heavily against your other references, in the event of their being mentioned to any prospective employer”... Soames knew beyond doubt that his face was very pale indeed.