It was eight o'clock at night and raining, scarcely a time when a
business so limited in its clientele as that of a coin dealer could
hope to attract any customer, but a light was still showing in the
small shop that bore over its window the name of Baxter, and in the
even smaller office at the back the proprietor himself sat reading the
latest _Pall Mall_. His enterprise seemed to be justified, for
presently the door bell gave its announcement, and throwing down his
paper Mr. Baxter went forward.
As a matter of fact the dealer had been expecting someone and his
manner as he passed into the shop was unmistakably suggestive of a
caller of importance. But at the first glance towards his visitor the
excess of deference melted out of his bearing, leaving the urbane,
self-possessed shopman in the presence of the casual customer.