“Sir,” said the old man, with great uneasiness, “I do as I am directed. I am not the principal here. I am but the agent of a superior, and I have no choice, no power.”

“Don’t say so,” retorted Fledgeby, secretly exultant as the old man stretched out his hands, with a shrinking action of defending himself against the sharp construction of the two observers. “Don’t play the tune of the trade, Mr. Riah. You’ve a right to get in your debts, if you’re determined to do it, but don’t pretend what everyone in your line regularly pretends. At least, don’t do it to me. Why should you, Mr. Riah? You know I know all about you.”

The old man clasped the skirt of his long coat with his disengaged hand, and directed a wistful look at Fledgeby.