Theodore had a bed. He would walk to the office a couple of hours before
I myself started on the way, and I was wont to arrive as soon after ten
o'clock of a morning as I could do conveniently.

On this memorable occasion of which I am about to tell you--it was
during the autumn of 1815--I had come to the office unusually early,
and had just hung my hat and coat in the outer room, and taken my seat
at my desk in the inner office, there to collect my thoughts in
preparation for the grave events which the day might bring forth,
when, suddenly, an ill-dressed, dour-looking individual entered the
room without so much as saying, "By your leave," and after having
pushed Theodore--who stood by like a lout--most unceremoniously to one
side. Before I had time to recover from my surprise at this unseemly
intrusion, the uncouth individual thrust Theodore roughly out of the
room, slammed the door in his face, and having satisfied himself that
he was alone with, me and that the door was too solid to allow of
successful eavesdropping, he dragged the best chair forward--the one,
sir, which I reserve for lady visitors.

He threw his leg across it, and, sitting astride, he leaned his elbows
over the back and glowered at me as if he meant to frighten me.

"My name is Charles Saurez," he said abruptly, "and I want your
assistance in a matter which requires discretion, ingenuity and
alertness. Can I have it?"

I was about to make a dignified reply when he literally threw the next
words at me: "Name your price, and I will pay it!" he said.

What could I do, save to raise my shoulders in token that the matter