It is
true that there is whisky and soda at hand, and the box of cigars is
open, yet there are latent possibilities of passion under the most
placid natures, revealed only to writers of fiction in our halfpenny
Press. Let the reader wait, therefore, till he sees these two men
tried as by fire under a great temptation, and then let him say
whether even the probity of Sir George Newnes comes scathless from the
ordeal.
'Have you brought the swag, Sir George?' asked the novelist, with some
trace of anxiety in his voice.
'Yes,' replied the great publisher; 'but before proceeding to the
count would it not be wise to give orders that will insure our being
left undisturbed?'
'You are right,' replied Doyle, pressing an electric button.
When the servant appeared he said: 'I am not at home to anyone. No
matter who calls, or what excuse is given, you must permit none to
approach this room.'
When the servant had withdrawn, Doyle took the further precaution of
thrusting in place one of the huge bolts which ornamented the massive
oaken door studded with iron knobs. Sir George withdrew from the tail
pocket of his dress coat two canvas bags, and, untying the strings,
poured the rich red gold on the smooth table.
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