red to go that length, Mr Vavasor,--not altogether to
go that length,--ugh--ugh--ugh."

"Then, will you tell me what you have done in the matter?"

"Well,--upon my word, you've taken me a little by surprise. Let me
see. Pinkle,--Pinkle." Pinkle was a clerk who sat in an inner room,
and Mr Tombe's effort to call him seemed to be most ineffectual. But
Pinkle understood the sound, and came. "Pinkle, didn't we pay some
money into Hock and Block's a few weeks since, to the credit of Mr
George Vavasor?"

"Did we, sir?" said Pinkle, who probably knew that his employer was
an old fox, and who, perhaps, had caught something of the fox nature
himself.

"I think we did. Just look Pinkle;--and, Pinkle,--see the date, and
let me know all about it. It's fine bright weather for this time of
year, Mr Vavasor; but these easterly winds!--ugh--ugh--ugh!"

Vavasor found himself sitting for an apparently interminable number
of minutes in Mr Tombe's dingy chamber, and was coughed at, and
wheezed at, till he begun to be tired of his position; moreover, when
tired, he showed his impatience. "Perhaps you'll let us write you a
line when we have looked into the matter?" suggested Mr Tombe.

"I'd rather know at once," said Vavasor. "I don't suppose it can take
you very long to find out whether you have paid money to my account,
by order of Mr Grey. At any rate, I must know before I go away."

"Pinkle, Pinkle!" screamed the old man through his coughing; and
again Pinkle came. "Well, Pinkle, was anything of the kind done, or
is my memory deceiving me?" Mr Tombe was, no doubt, lying shamefully,
for, of course, he remembered all about it; and, indeed, George
Vavasor had learned already quite enough for his own purposes.

"I was going to look," said Pinkle; and Pinkle again went away.

"I'm sorry to give your clerk so much trouble," said Vavasor, in an
angry voice; "and I think it must be unnecessary. Surely you know
whether Mr Grey has commissioned you to pay money for me?"

"We have so many things to do, Mr Vavasor; and so many clients. We
have, indeed. You see, it isn't only one gentleman's affairs. But I
think there was something done. I do, indeed."

"What is Mr John Grey's address?" asked Vavasor, very sharply.

"Number 5, Suffolk Street, Pall Mall East," said Mr Tombe. Herein Mr
Tombe somewhat committed himself. His client, Mr Grey, was, in fact,
in town, but Vavasor had not known or imagined that such was the
case. Had Mr Tombe gi