and still rubbing his hands, "perhaps I had better retire, Mr. Conybeare, so that you and Mr. Goulburn may———"
Mr. Conybeare held up a plump white hand on the little finger of which a fine diamond ring sparkled.
"By no means on my behalf, I pray, Mr. Pepperall," he said, with polite deprecation. "Never turn a man out of his own chair or his own room, you know, eh? And I am sure that Mr. Goulburn will have no objection to your hearing anything I have to say to him—eh, Mr. Goulburn?"
Goulburn, who had listened to all this with feelings of utter mystification, bowed his head.
"Certainly not, sir," he said. Then he added, as with an afterthought, "I haven't really the slightest notion of what you can have to say to me."
Mr. Conybeare chuckled; Mr. Pepperall, who rarely, in Goulburn's experience of him, showed signs of mirth, smiled and nodded his head.
"Can't think what I can have to say to him!" exclaimed Mr. Conybeare. "Ah, ah, see what it is to be mysterious—the mysterious, by the bye, enters largely into my profession, Mr. Pepperall—oh, I assure you, yes. Well, the fact is, my dear sir," he continued, turning to Goulburn and assuming a very business-like manner, "I wish to have a short conversation with you and to ask you a few questions, and I hope and believe that the result will prove eminently satisfactory. But won't you be seated?"
"Oh, I beg pardon, I beg pardon!" exclaimed Mr.
