appeared to lower the fog-laden November temperature of the room. The electric light, burning at nine-thirty in the morning, shed a bluish light through the haze that resembled the radiance in the ice cave of an Alpine glacier. Lord Stranleigh unconsciously rubbed one hand over the other for warmth, and was astonished to notice that a coal fire burned dimly in a grate. A graven image sat silent at a small table beside Mr. Preston's desk with a writing pad before him, a fountain-pen in his hand, ready to take shorthand notes when anyone spoke. He was young in years, but his frozen face would never look older than it did now.
"I introduce myself as Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, Mr. Preston. I believe an introduction is not necessary so far as my friends, Sir Phillip Sanderson and Mr. Peter Mackeller, are concerned. I may perhaps be permitted to apologise for my intrusion by stating that I come simply as a friend of both parties, as I told Mr, Mackeller. I own twenty thousand shares of Southern Railway stock, and though not financially interested in Mr. Mackeller's and Sir Phillip Sanderson's railway and town of Gorham-on-Sea, yet Mr. Mackeller has long been a friend and colleague of mine, and I have advised him, if possible, to come to some amicable arrangement with you."
Mr. Preston frigidly inclined his head very
