by no fears. His mind was not capacious, but such as it was it was
his own, and he knew how to use it.

Abchurch Lane is not a grand site for the offices of a merchant
prince. Here, at a small corner house, there was a small brass plate
on a swing door, bearing the words 'Melmotte & Co.' Of whom the Co was
composed no one knew. In one sense Mr Melmotte might be said to be in
company with all the commercial world, for there was no business to
which he would refuse his co-operation on certain terms. But he had
never burdened himself with a partner in the usual sense of the term.
Here Fisker found three or four clerks seated at desks, and was
desired to walk upstairs. The steps were narrow and crooked, and the
rooms were small and irregular. Here he stayed for a while in a small
dark apartment in which 'The Daily Telegraph' was left for the
amusement of its occupant till Miles Grendall announced to him that Mr
Melmotte would see him. The millionaire looked at him for a moment or
two, just condescending to touch with his fingers the hand which
Fisker had projected.

'I don't seem to remember,' he said, 'the gentleman who has done me
the honour of writing to me about you.'

'I dare say not, Mr Melmotte. When I'm at home in San Francisco, I
make acquaintance with a great many gents whom I don't remember
afterwards. My partner I think told me that he went to your house with
his friend, Sir Felix Carbury.'

'I know a young man called Sir Felix Carbury.'

'That's it. I could have got any amount of introductions to you if I
had thought this would not have sufficed.' Mr Melmotte bowed. 'Our
account here in London is kept with the City and West End Joint Stock.
But I have only just arrived, and as my chief object in coming to
London is to see you, and as I met my partner, Mr Montague, in
Liverpool, I took a note from him and came on straight.'

'And what can I do for you, Mr Fisker?'

Then Mr Fisker began his account of the Great South Central Pacific
and Mexican Railway, and exhibited considerable skill by telling it
all in comparatively few words. And yet he was gorgeous and florid. In
two minutes he had displayed his programme, his maps, and his pictures
before Mr Melmotte's eyes, taking care that Mr Melmotte should see how
often the names of Fisker, Montague, and Montague, reappeared upon
them. As Mr Melmotte read the documents, Fisker from time to time put
in a word. But the words had no reference at all to the future