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Updated: May 3, 2025
"You look warm," the merchant answered, rubbing his hands. "Let me offer you some claret. I have some in the cupboard." "No, thank you," the visitor answered, staring across at the head of the firm as though he were some botanical curiosity. "Extraordinary fellow. 'Iron' Girdlestone, they call you in the City. A good name, too ha! ha! an excellent name.
I trust he will not be bitten." "He is much more likely to do the biting," remarked Fugger bluntly. He had met Ezra Girdlestone in business more than once, and had been disagreeably impressed by the young gentleman's sharpness. "Poor lad!" said his father. "He is young, and has had little experience as yet. I hope all is well with him!"
On one side of this is a brass plate with the inscription "Girdlestone and Co., African Merchants," and above it a curious hieroglyphic supposed to represent a human hand in the act of pointing.
You should have men of some standing to set such reports going. They would have more weight then." John Girdlestone shook his head despondingly. "How am I to get a man of any standing to do such a piece of business?" he said. "Nothing easier," answered Ezra, with a cynical laugh.
Girdlestone continued to stand upon the hearth-rug and spoke very slowly and deliberately, as though giving vent to thoughts which had been long and carefully considered. "You see, Ezra," he said, "diamonds, being a commodity of great value, of which there is never very much in the market at one time, are extremely sensitive to all sorts of influences.
"Yes, I must go; I have an appointment in the City at six, which I must not miss." "And I have an appointment which I must not miss," the dying man said with a feeble smile. "I shall send up the nurse as I go down," Girdlestone said. "Good-bye!" "Good-bye! God bless you, John!" The firm, strong hand of the hale man enclosed for a moment the feeble, burning one of the sufferer.
It was a dull October morning in Fenchurch Street, some weeks after the events with which our story opened. The murky City air looked murkier still through the glazed office windows. Girdlestone, grim and grey, as though he were the very embodiment of the weather, stooped over his mahogany table.
"Application in youth, Gilray, leads to leisure in old age. Is the Maid of Athens unloading?" "Mr. Dimsdale has been down to her this morning, sir. They're getting the things out fast. He wants to call attention to the state of the vessel, Mr. Girdlestone. He says that it's making water even in dock, and that some of the hands say that they won't go back in her." "Tut! tut!"
You have no knowledge of how many dere may be. Dere is certainly Herr Girdlestone and his son and de man mit de eye, but madame knows not how many may be at de house. Remember also dat de police are not on your side, but rather against you, for as yet dere is no evidence dat any crime is intentioned.
"Then we must have it by the only means open to us." "And that is?" "I must marry her." "You will?" "I shall. Here is my hand on it." "Then we are saved," cried the old man, throwing up his tremulous hands. "Girdlestone & Son will weather the storm yet." "But Girdlestone becomes a sleeping partner," said Ezra.
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