Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Wait, though. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. "Pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. " "We'll be waiting for you.
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