“Three Hundred Thousand Pounds! And in the hand of an inexperienced youngster of twenty-one. And--incidentally--in Mr. Barclay Leverton’s!” Carsdale flung down the letter which he had been reading, and with a cynical laugh that came as a note of exclamation at the end of his involuntary burst into speech, crossed the room, and throwing open the window, leaned over the sill and looked out upon Norfolk Street, lying deep down below. It was nearly ten o’clock of a lovely May morning, and in the street itself, and in the Strand at its head, and along the Embankment at its foot, men were quickening their last paces in a laudable desire to be in office or chambers by the hour at which London, laz…
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