mi-private room, with a modest stimulant to aid conversation, they
became more at ease; Mr. Scawthorne allowed himself a discreet smile,
and Joseph, fingering his glass, broached the matter at issue with a
cautious question.

'Do you know anything of a man called Snowdon?'

'What Snowdon?'

'Joseph James Snowdon--a friend of mine. Your people advertised for him
about three years ago. Perhaps you haven't been at the office as long
as that?'

'Oh yes. I remember the name. What about him?'

'Your people wanted to find him--something to his advantage. Do you
happen to know whether it's any use his coming forward now?'

Mr. Scawthorne was not distinguished by directness of gaze. He had
handsome features, and a not unpleasant cast of countenance, but
something, possibly the habit of professional prudence, made his regard
coldly, fitfully, absently observant. It was markedly so as he turned
his face towards Joseph whilst the latter was speaking. After a
moment's silence he remarked, without emphasis:

'A relative of yours, you said?'

'No, I said a friend--intimate friend. Polkenhorne knows him too.'

'Does he? I haven't seen Polkenhorne for a long time.'

'You don't care to talk about the business? Perhaps you'd better
introduce me to Mr. Percival.'

'By the name of Camden?'

'Hang it! I may as well tell you at once. Snowdon is my own name.'

'Indeed? And how am I to be sure of that?'

'Come and see me where I'm living, in Clerkenwell Close, and then make
inquiries of my father, in Hanover Street, Islington. There's no reason
now for keeping up the old name--a little affair--all put right. But
the fact is, I'd as soon find out what this business is with your
office without my father knowing. I have reasons; shouldn't mind
talking them over with you, if you can give me the information I want.'

'I can do that,' replied Scawthorne with a smile. 'If you are J. J.
Snowdon, you are requested to communicate with Michael Snowdon--that's
all.'

'Oh! but I _have_ communicated with him, and he's nothing particular to
say to me, as far as I can see.'

Scawthorne sipped at his glass, gave a stroke to each side of his
moustache, and seemed to reflect.

'You were coming to ask Mr. Percival privately for information?'

'That's just it. Of course if you can't give me any, I must see him
to-morrow.'

'He won't tell you anything more than I have.'

'And you don't _know_ anything more?'

'I didn't say that, my dear