"It has been done, sir, and they still refuse."

Sir Robert walked to the corner of the room where the yellow object
squatted on its pedestal, and contemplated it a while, as a man often
studies one thing when he is thinking of another. It seemed to give him
an idea, for he looked over his shoulder and said:

"That will do, Jeffreys. When Major Vernon comes in, give him my
compliments and say that I should be obliged by a word or two with him."

The clerk bowed and went as noiselessly as he had entered.

"Let's see," added Sir Robert to himself. "Old Jackson, the editor of
_The Judge_, was a great friend of Vernon's father, the late Sir William
Vernon, G.C.B. I believe that he was engaged to be married to his sister
years ago, only she died or something. So the Major ought to be able to
get round him if anybody can. Only the worst of it is I don't altogether
trust that young gentleman. It suited us to give him a share in the
business because he is an engineer who knows the country, and this
Sahara scheme was his notion, a very good one in a way, and for other
reasons. Now he shows signs of kicking over the traces, wants to know
too much, is developing a conscience, and so forth. As though the
promoters of speculative companies had any business with consciences.
Ah! here he comes."

Sir Robert seated himself at his desk and resumed his calculations upon
a half-sheet of note-paper, and that moment a clear, hearty voice was
heard speaking to the clerks in the outer office. Then came the sound of
a strong, firm footstep, the door opened and Major Alan Vernon appeared.