ghty respect for wealth in its colossal forms, and he
never visited the City Carlton, nor looked out of its smoking-room
windows, without glancing with interest and admiration at the famous
Rothschild offices, immediately opposite. It amused him to speculate and
theorize about the vast amounts of money which must needs be turned over
in theory and practice within those soberly quiet walls, to indulge in
fancies about the secrets, financial and political, which must be
discussed and locked up in human breasts there--to him the magic address,
New Court, St. Swithin's Lane, was as full of potential mystery as the
Sphinx is to an imaginative traveller. He glanced at its gates and at its
sign now with an almost youthful awe and reverence--the reverence of the
man of considerable wealth for the men of enormous wealth--and while his
eyes were thus busy a taxi-cab came along the Lane, stopped by the
entrance to New Court, and set down Mrs. Marlow.

Allerdyke instinctively shrank back within the curtains of the
smoking-room window. There was no reason why he should have done so. He
had no objection to Franklin Fullaway's secretary seeing him standing in
a window of the City Carlton Club; he knew no reason why Mrs. Marlow
should object to be seen getting out of a cab in St. Swithin's Lane. Yet,
he drew back, and, from his concealed position, watched. Not that there
was anything out of the ordinary to watch. Mrs. Marlow, who looked
daintier, prettier, more charming than ever, paid her driver, gave him a
smiling nod, and tripped into New Court, a bundle of papers in her
well-gloved hand.

"Business with Rothschild's, eh?" mused Allerdyke.

"Well, I daresay there's a vast lot of folk in this city who do business
across there. Um!--smart little woman that, and no doubt as clever as
she's smart. I'd like to know--"

Just then the ancient hall-porter of the club (who surely missed his
vocation in life, and should have been a bishop, or at least a dean)
ushered in Appleyard, whom Allerdyke immediately beckoned to join him
amongst the window-curtains.

"I say!" he whispered, with a side glance at _The Times_-reading old
gentleman, "you remember me telling you yesterday about the
lady-secretary of Fullaway's--Mrs. Marlow?--what a smart bit she looked
to be. Eh?"

"Well?" replied Appleyard. "Of course, what about her?"

"She's just gone into Rothschild's across there," answered Allerdyke.
"Come here, this corner; she'll be coming o