CHAPTER ISAHARA LIMITEDSir Robert Aylward, Bart., M.P., sat in his office in the City ofLondon. It was a very magnificent office, quite one of the finest thatcould be found within half a mile of the Mansion House. Its exteriorwas built of Aberdeen gr... Read more

CHAPTER ISAHARA LIMITEDSir Robert Aylward, Bart., M.P., sat in his office in the City ofLondon. It was a very magnificent office, quite one of the finest thatcould be found within half a mile of the Mansion House. Its exteriorwas built of Aberdeen granite, a material calculated to impress theprospective investor with a comfortable sense of security. Other stucco,or even brick-built, offices might crumble and fall in an actual or afinancial sense, but this rock-like edifice of granite, surmounted by alife-sized statue of Justice with her scales, admired from either cornerby pleasing effigies of Commerce and of Industry, would surely endureany shock. Earthquake could scarcely shake its strong foundations; panicand disaster would as soon affect the Bank of England. That at leastwas the impression which it had been designed to convey, and not withoutsuccess.There is so much in externals, Mr. Champers-Haswell, Sir Robert'spartner, would say in his cheerful voice. We are all of us influencedby them, however unconsciously. Impress the public, my dear Aylward. Letsolemnity without suggest opulence within, and the bread, or rather thegranite, which you throw upon the waters will come back to you aftermany days.Mr. Aylward, for this conversation occurred before his merits or thedepth of his purse had been rewarded by a baronetcy, looked at hispartner in the impassive fashion for which he was famous, and answered:You mix your metaphors, Haswell, but if you mean that the public arefools who must be caught by advertisement, I agree with you. Only thisparticular advertisement is expensive and I do not want to wait manydays for my reward. However, £20,000 one way or the other is a smallmatter, so tell that architect to do the thing in granite.Sir Robert Aylward sat in his own quiet room at the back of thisenduring building, a very splendid room that any Secretary of Statemight have envied, but arranged in excellent taste. Its walls werepanelled with figured teak, a rich carpet made the footfall noiseless,an antique Venus stood upon a marble pedestal in the corner, and overthe mantelpiece hung a fine portrait by Gainsborough, that of a certainMiss Aylward, a famous beauty in her day, with whom, be it added, itspresent owner could boast no connection whatsoever.Sir Robert was seated at his ebony desk playing with a pencil, and thelight from a cheerful fire fell upon his face. Less