"Will you step in?
This way! The chair is dusty.

Permit me!" Trent threw a swift glance around the room in which he found himself.

It was barely furnished, and a window, thick with dust, looked out on the dingy back-wall of a bank or some public building.

The floor was uncovered, the walls were hung with yellow maps of gold-mines all in the West African district.

Da Souza himself, spick and span, with glossy boots and a flower in his buttonhole, was certainly the least shabby thing in the room.
"You know very well," Trent said, "what I have come about.