Let me see, it must be eleven years since we met." Sir Everard tapped the toes of his carefully polished brown shoes with the end of his walking stick.
"I left London," he murmured reminiscently, "in April, nineteen hundred and two.

Yes, eleven years, Mr.Mangan.It seems queer to find myself in London again, as I dare say you can understand." "Precisely," the lawyer murmured.

"I was just wondering--I think that last remittance we sent to you could be stopped.

I have no doubt you will be glad of a little ready money," he added, with a confident smile.
"Thanks, I don't think I need any just at present," was the amazing answer.

"We'll talk about financial affairs a little later on." Mr.Mangan metaphorically pinched himself.