Da Souza was gorgeous in frock
coat and silk hat, a carnation in his buttonhole, a diamond in his
black satin tie, yet he was not altogether happy. This little man
hobbling along in front represented fate to him. On the platform at
Waterloo he had heard him timidly ask a bystander the way to the
offices of the Bekwando Land and Gold Exploration Company, Limited.
If ever he got there, what would be the price of Bekwando shares on
the morrow?
On the bridge Da Souza saw him accost a policeman, and brushing
close by, heard him ask the same question. The man shook his head,
but pointed eastwards.
"I can't say exactly, sir, but somewhere in the City, for certain,"
he answered. "I should make for the Bank of England, a penny 'bus
along that way will take you - and ask again there."
The old man nodded his thanks and stepped along Da Souza felt that
his time had come. He accosted him with an urbane smile.
"Excuse me," he said, "but I think I heard you ask for the offices
of the Bekwando Land Company."
The old man looked up eagerly. "If you can direct me there, sir,"
he said, "I shall be greatly obliged."
"I can do so," Da Souza said, falling into step, "and will with
pleasure. I am going that way myself. I hope," he continued in a
tone of kindly concern, "that you are not a shareholder in the
Company.
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