On the production of coffee and departure of the waiter, Michael might
have been observed to make portentous efforts after gravity of mien.
He looked his friend in the face (one eye perhaps a trifle off), and
addressed him thickly but severely.

'Enough of this fooling,' was his not inappropriate exordium. 'To
business. Mark me closely. I am an Australian. My name is John Dickson,
though you mightn't think it from my unassuming appearance. You will be
relieved to hear that I am rich, sir, very rich. You can't go into this
sort of thing too thoroughly, Pitman; the whole secret is preparation,
and I can get up my biography from the beginning, and I could tell it
you now, only I have forgotten it.'

'Perhaps I'm stupid--' began Pitman.

'That's it!' cried Michael. 'Very stupid; but rich too--richer than I
am. I thought you would enjoy it, Pitman, so I've arranged that you were
to be literally wallowing in wealth. But then, on the other hand, you're
only an American, and a maker of india-rubber overshoes at that. And the
worst of it is--why should I conceal it from you?--the worst of it
is that you're called Ezra Thomas. Now,' said Michael, with a really
appalling seriousness of manner, 'tell me who we are.'

The unfortunate little man was cross-examined till he knew these facts
by heart.

'There!' cried the lawyer. 'Our plans are laid. Thoroughly
consistent--that's the great thing.'

'But I don't understand,' objected Pitman.