of the city, he lived on the premises, the shutting of a door which led
to his private rooms marked the close of the business day. Pressing a
bell which connected with the public office occupied by his secretary,
Paul Harley stood up as Innes entered.

"There's nothing further, is there, Innes?" he asked.

"Nothing, Mr. Harley, if you have passed the Home Office report?"

Paul Harley laughed shortly.

"There it is," he replied, pointing to the basket; "a tedious and
thankless job, Innes. It is the fifth draft you have prepared and it
will have to do."

He took up a letter which lay unsealed upon the table. "This is the
Rokeby affair," he said. "I have decided to hold it over, after all,
until my return."

"Ah!" said Innes, quietly glancing at each envelope as he took it from
the basket. "I see you have turned down the little job offered by the
Marquis."

"I have," replied Harley, smiling grimly, "and a fee of five hundred
guineas with it. I have also intimated to that distressed nobleman that
this is a business office and that a laundry is the proper place to
take his dirty linen. No, there's nothing further to-night, Innes. You
can get along now. Has Miss Smith gone?"

But as if in answer to his enquiry the typist, who with Innes made up