es he heard, finding pleasure in the sound. He marvelled
idly at the lack of colour in the scene before him. The posters on the
walls alone struck a flamboyant note. Yet there was something restful in
the monochrome of the dresses, the dull smoke-griminess of the station.
At all events it was a contrast to the vivid colouring of the African
veldt.

Despite his interest in his fellow humans, however, he found himself
devoutly trusting his privacy would remain undisturbed, and it was with a
sense of relief that he felt the train glide slowly out of the station,
leaving him the sole occupant of his compartment.

Later, he saw the spire of Salisbury Cathedral. Again fortune favoured
him in the matter of privacy, and presently drowsiness descended on his
eyelids, which was not fully dispelled till the train ran into the gloom
of Waterloo station.

CHAPTER VIII

THE AMAZING CONDITIONS

The offices of Messrs. Parsons and Glieve, solicitors, are situated off
the Strand, and within seven minutes' walk of Covent Garden. It is an
old-established and exceedingly respectable firm. Its respectability is
emphasized by the massiveness of its furniture and the age of its office
boy. He is fifty, if he is a day. An exceeding slowness of brain
prevented him from rising to a more exalted position, a position to which
his quite extraordinary conscientiousness and honesty would have entitled
him. That same conscientiousness and honesty prevented him from being
superseded by a more juvenile individual, when his age had passed the
limit usually accorded to office boys. Imperceptibly almost, he became
part and parcel of the firm, a thing no more to be dispensed with than
the brass plate outside the office. He appeared now as an elderly and
exceedingly reputable butler, and his appearance quite enormously
increased the respectability of the firm.

Nominally James Glieve and Henry Parsons were partners of equal standing,
neither claiming seniority to the other; virtually James Glieve was the
voice, Henry Parsons the echo. In matters of great importance, they
received clients in company, Henry Parsons playing the part of Greek
chorus to James Glieve's lead. In matters of less importance, they each
had their own particular clients; but it is very certain that, even thus,
Henry Parsons invariably echoed the voice. It merely meant that the voice
had sounded in private, while the echo was heard in public.

When George, the office-boy-b