"Glad to see you, Mr. Furneaux," he said. "I missed you on the train
yesterday. Did you--"
"Nice quiet place you've got here, Mr. Ingerman," interrupted the
detective.
"Yes. But, as I was about to--"
"Artistically furnished, too," went on Furneaux dreamily. "Oak,
self-toned carpets and rugs, restful decorations. Those etchings, also,
show taste in the selection. 'The Embankment--by Night.' Fitting sequel
to 'The City--by Day.' I'm a child in such matters, but, 'pon my honor,
if tempted to pour out my hard-earned savings into the lap of a City
magnate, I would disgorge here more readily than in some saloon-bar of
finance, where the new mahogany glistens, and the typewriters click like
machine-guns."
Ingerman was nettled. He glanced at his correspondence.
"You have a somewhat far-fetched notion of my position," he said, with a
staccato quality in his velvet voice. "I am not a magnate, and I toil
here to make, not to lose, money for my clients."
"A noble ideal. Forgive me if my rhapsody took the wrong line."
"And I'm sure you will forgive me if I now put the question which leads
to the probable cause of your visit. Did you travel by the two o'clock
train yesterday?"
"Yes.
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