Mr. Albert Edward Jeekes, Hartley Parrish’s principal private secretary, lunched with Lady Margaret, Mary and Horace. Dr. Romain seemed not to have got over his embarrassment of the morning, for he did not put in an appearance. Mr. Jeekes was an old young man who supported bravely the weight of his Christian names, a reminder of his mother having occupied some small post in the household of Queen Victoria the Good. He might have been any age between 35 and 50 with his thin sandy hair, his myopic gaze, and his habitual expression of worried perplexity. He was a shorthand-writer and typist of incredible dexterity and speed which, combined with an unquenchable energy, had recommended him to Hartley Parrish. Accordingly, in consideration of a salary which he would have been the first to describe as “princely,” he had during the past four years devoted some fifteen hours a day to the service of Mr. Hartley Parrish. He was unmarried. When not on duty, either at St. James’s Square, Harkings, or Hartley Parrish’s palatial offices in Broad Street, he was to be found at one of those immense and gloomy clubs of indiscriminate membership which are dotted about the parish of St. James’s, S.W., and to which Mr. Jeekes was in the habit of referring in Early-Victorian accents of respect. “When I heard the news at the club, Miss Trevert,” said Jeekes, “you could have knocked me down with a feather. Mr. Parrish, as all of us knew, worked himself a great deal too hard, sometimes not knocking off for his tea, even, and wore his nerves all to pieces. But I never dreamed it would come to this. Ah! he’s a great loss, and what we shall do without him I don’t know. There was a piece in one of the papers about him to-day—perhaps you saw it?—it called him ‘one of the captains of industry of modern England.’” “You were always a great help to him, Mr. Jeekes,” said Mary, who was touched by the little man’s hero-worship; “I am sure you realized that he appreciated you.” “Well,” replied Mr. Jeekes, rubbing the palms of his hands together, “he did a great deal for _me_. Took me out of a City office where I was getting two pound five a week. That’s what he did. It was a shipping firm. I tell you this because it has a bearing, Miss Trevert, on what is to follow. Why did he pick me? I’ll tell you. “He was passing through the front office with one of our principals when he asked him, just casually, what Union Pacific stood at. The boss didn’t know. “‘A hundred and eighty-seven London parity,’ says I. He turned round and looked at me. ‘How do you know that?’ says he, rather surprised, this being in a shipping office, you understand. “‘I take an interest in the markets,’ I replied. ‘Do you?’ he says. ‘Then you might do for me,’ and tells me to come and see him.” “I went. He made me an offer. When I heard the figure ... my word!” Mr. Jeekes paused. Then added sadly: “And I had meant to work for him to my dying day!”