THE YELLOW GOD

CHAPTER I.
SAHARA, LIMITED.

Sir Robert Aylward, Bart., M.P., sat in his office in the City of London. Itwas a very magnificent office, quite one of the finest that could be foundwithin half a mile of the Mansion House. Its exterior was built of Aberdeengranite, a material calculated to impress the prospective investor with acomfortable sense of security. Other stucco, or even brick-built, offices mightcrumble and fall in an actual or a financial sense, but this rock-like edificeof granite, surmounted by a life-sized statue of Justice with her scales,admired from either corner by pleasing effigies of Commerce and of Industry,would surely endure any shock. Earthquake could scarcely shake its strongfoundations; panic and disaster would as soon affect the Bank of England. Thatat least was the impression which it had been designed to convey, and notwithout success.

“There is so much in externals,” Mr. Champers-Haswell, SirRobert’s partner, would say in his cheerful voice. “We are all ofus influenced by them, however unconsciously. Impress the public, my dearAylward. Let solemnity without suggest opulence within, and the bread, orrather the granite, which you throw upon the waters will come back to you aftermany days.”

Mr. Aylward, for this conversation occurred before his merits or the depth ofhis purse had been rewarded by a baronetcy, looked at his partner in theimpassive fashion for which he was famous, and answered:

“You mix your metaphors, Haswell, but if you me

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