Look sharp!" Trent entered the house.

Da Souza met him in the hall, sleek, curly, and resplendent in a black dinner-suit.

The years had dealt lightly with him, or else the climate of England was kinder to his yellow skin than the moist heat of the Gold Coast.

He greeted Trent with a heartiness which was partly tentative, partly boisterous.
"Back from the coining of the shekels, my dear friend," he exclaimed.
"Back from the spoiling of the Egyptians, eh?
How was money to-day ?" "An eighth easier," Trent answered, ascending the stairs.
Da Souza fidgeted about with the banisters, and finally followed him.
"There was just a word," he remarked, "a little word I wanted with you." "Come and talk while I wash," Trent said shortly.

"Dinner's on, and I'm hungry." "Certainly, certainly," Da Souza murmured, closing the door behind them as they entered the lavatory.