Aided by the company’s tug, the great steamer sidled up to the landing-stage, and as soon as the gangways were opened the usual stream of passengers’ friends began to push their way on board. The hurricane-deck towered high above the level of the quay, and Senator Sherman, not expecting anyone to meet him, retained his post of vantage at the rail, looking down with amused interest at the embracings and hand-shakings. He had no need to hurry, for it was too late to catch a train to London in time to reach the Bank before it closed for the day, and he preferred to let the ship clear before he claimed the box of bonds from the purser.
Suddenly he heard his name spoken inquiringly at his elbow, and wheeling smartly round he found himself looking into the harassed eyes of a well-dressed man whom he had seen, a few minutes before, pass on board from the landing-stage. He had specially noticed him from a limp which impeded his progress across the crowded gangway.
“Yes, my name is Sherman, but I haven’t the pleasure of knowing yours,” said the Senator shortly. There was a diffident air about this tired-looking individual—a something
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