"Thank you, sir," and with that he disappeared toward the office.
"They seem to be polite enough here, at least," said Stranleigh to himself. "Perhaps it's going to be easier than I thought."
The floorwalker promptly returned.
"Mr. Brassard would be glad to know, sir, for what purpose you wish to see him."
"Say that my business relates to the sale of a property adjoining his own."
"Ah, in that case, sir," said the shopwalker, "I may ask you to step this way, sir."
He evidently knew there were certain subjects interesting to his master which would ensure a stranger's reception without further preliminary.
Stranleigh entered the private room of the great merchant, hat in hand, distinguished by a most conciliatory manner. He saw, seated before him, a round-headed man with hair clipped short, who might have been one of Cromwell's troopers, and who probably had an Ironside for an ancestor. The face was dogged, determined, uncompromising, and yet certain lines round the firm mouth betokened a sense of humour, which was, however, nullified by the sharp glitter of keen eyes that somehow reminded Stranleigh of the steely glare behind his cutlery window. Those eyes were ruthless, whatever the gentler lines about the mouth might promise. A thick bull neck supported the massive
