d left the house.

He was going to Voles first.

Voles was his big artillery. He guessed that the fight with Marcus
Mulhausen would be a battle to the death. He reckoned a lot on Voles. In
Trafalgar Square he called a taxi and told the driver to take him to
Jermyn Street.

PART III

CHAPTER XIV

THE ATTACK

A. S. Voles, money lender and bill discounter, lived over his business.
That is to say his office was his dining room. He owned the house in
Jermyn Street. Jones, dismissing the taxi, rang the bell and was
admitted by a man servant, who, not sure whether Mr. Voles was in or
not, invited the visitor into a small room on the right of the entrance
hall and closed the door on him.

The room contained a desk table, three chairs, a big scale map of
London, a Phoenix Insurance Almanac, and a photogravure reproduction of
Mona Lisa. The floor was covered with linoleum, and the window gave upon
a blank wall.

This was the room where creditors and stray visitors had to wait. Jones
took a chair and looked about him.

Humanity may be divided into three classes: those who, having seen,
adore, those who tolerate, and those who detest Mona Lisa. Jones
detested her. That leery, sleery, slippery, poisonous face was hateful
to him as the mask of a serpent.

He was looking at the lady when the door opened and in came Voles.

Voles looked yellower and older this morning, but his face showed
nothing of resentment. The turning of the Earl of Rochester upon him had
been the one great surprise of his life. He had always fancied that he
knew character, and his fancy was not ill founded. His confidence in
himself had been shaken.

"Good morning," said Jones. "I have come to have a little talk with
you."

"Sit down," said Voles.

They seated themselves, Voles before the desk.

"I haven't come to fight," said Jones, "just to talk. You known that
Marcus Mulhausen has got that Welsh land from me for five thousand, and
that it is worth maybe a million now."

Voles nodded.

"Well, Mulhausen has to give that property back."

Voles laughed.

"You needn't laugh. You have seen my rough side. I'm holding the smooth
towards you now--but there is no occasion to laugh. I'm going to skin
Mulhausen."

"Well," said Voles. "What have I to do with that?"

"You are the knife."

"Oh!"

"Yes, indeed. Let's talk. When you got that eight thousand from me, you
were only the agent of the Plinlimon woman, and she was only the ag