Then of a sudden I recollected that it was the third of November. On
that day I had instructions to deliver the bronze cylinder to the first
person who made application for it!
The low, soft-spoken words of the dying man as he had handed me the
heavy cylinder, bidding me keep it in safe custody, recurred to me as I
stood there with the newspaper in my hand. So I resolved to go at once
to London, and call upon the firm who had advertised.
Soon after three o'clock, therefore, I ascended in the lift of a large
block of offices in London Wall, and entered the swing doors of Messrs.
Fryer and Davidson.
When asked by the clerk for my name, I gave a card, adding that I had
called in response to the advertisement, and a few moments later found
myself in a comfortable private room with a thin, clean-shaven,
thin-faced, alert-looking man of middle age, who introduced himself as
Mr Cyril Fryer, the head of the firm.