“‘To be quite frank with you, Mr Beadle,’ he confided, ‘I’ve been considering a move for the last year. I’ve been very comfortable at Peto’s Bank, as you know, but — well, the time’s come for a change.’ Mr Beadle, a large man in a black three-piece suit, shifted his bowler hat further along the bar to make room for his elbow, and stared gloomily into his empty porter pot. Presently he turned his shrewd grey eyes on Portman, and regarded him with a look which held the fathomless wisdom of a man w...ho had been secretary to a private banker in Gresham Street for over forty years. ‘A change, hey? What do you want a change for? You look as gorgeous as Peto himself in that fancy rig of yours. I’d say you’re not short of a few bob working for Lord Jocelyn Peto.’ Mr Beadle glanced round the crowded, stuffy bar, where the lunchtime noise level was rising to a crescendo. He liked his daily pie and porter in The Recorder, especially when there was any juicy item of City gossip to retail.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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