the visitor while they were exchanging these
civilities. He was clad in black. I remember perfectly that he wore a
flat, broad, black satin tie in which was stuck a large cameo pin; and a
small turn down collar. His hair, discoloured and silky, curled
slightly over his ears. His cheeks were hairless and round, and
apparently soft. He held himself very upright, walked with small steps
and spoke gently in an inward voice. Perhaps from contrast with the
magnificent polish of the room and the neatness of its owner, he struck
me as dingy, indigent, and, if not exactly humble, then much subdued by
evil fortune.

I wondered greatly at my fat little financier's civility to that dubious
personage when he asked me, as we resumed our respective seats, whether
I knew who it was that had just gone out. On my shaking my head
negatively he smiled queerly, said "De Barral," and enjoyed my surprise.
Then becoming grave: "That's a deep fellow, if you like. We all know
where he started from and where he got to; but nobody knows what he
means to do." He became thoughtful for a moment and added as if
speaking to himself, "I wonder what his game is."

And, you know, there was no game, no game of any sort, or shape or kind.
It came out plainly at the trial. As I've told you before, he was a
clerk in a bank, like thousands of others. He got that berth as a
second start in life and there he stuck again, giving perfect
satisfaction. Then one day as though a supernatural voice had whispered
into his ear or some invisible fly had stung him, he put on his hat,
went out into the street and began advertising. That's absolutely all
that there was to it. He caught in the street the word of the time and
harnessed it to his preposterous chariot.

One remembers his first modest advertisements headed with the magic word
Thrift, Thrift, Thrift, thrice repeated; promising ten per cent, on all
deposits and giving the address of the Thrift and Independence Aid
Association in Vauxhall Bridge Road. Apparently nothing more was
necessary. He didn't even explain what he meant to do with the money he
asked the public to pour into his lap. Of course he meant to lend it
out at high rates of interest. He did so--but he did it without system,
plan, foresight or judgment. And as he frittered away the sums that
flowed in, he advertised for more--and got it. During a period of
general business prosperity he set up The Orb Bank and The Sceptre
Trust,