'A Jew,' Morris reflected, when his visitor was gone. And what could a

Jew want with a claim of--he verified the amount in the books--a claim

of three five eight, nineteen, ten, against the house of Finsbury? And

why should he pay cent. for cent.? The figure proved the loyalty of

Rodgerson--even Morris admitted that. But it proved unfortunately

something else--the eagerness of Moss. The claim must have been wanted

instantly, for that day, for that morning even. Why? The mystery of Moss

promised to be a fit pendant to the mystery of Pitman. 'And just when

all was looking well too!' cried Morris, smiting his hand upon the desk.

And almost at the same moment Mr Moss was announced.

Mr Moss was a radiant Hebrew, brutally handsome, and offensively polite.

He was acting, it appeared, for a third party; he understood nothing of

the circumstances; his client desired to have his position regularized;

but he would accept an antedated cheque--antedated by two months, if Mr

Finsbury chose.

'But I don't understand this,' said Morris. 'What made you pay cent. per

cent. for it today?'

Mr Moss had no idea; only his orders.

'The whole thing is thoroughly irregular,' said Morris. 'It is not the

custom of the trade to settle at this time of the year. What are your

instructions if I refuse?'

219

The Wrong Box