J. J. Bell

“ But Rufus Cran was no mere student. If he had the eyes of a dreamer, he had the mouth of a practical man. For near forty years, within his shabby-enough offices in Hatton Garden, he had been dealing in the precious metals themselves—certain of them worth their weight in gold over and over again. He had never married, never gone into society. Some said he was enormously wealthy, and a miser; others declared he spent all his profits on those rare and costly books.
JOAN MARCH, bracing herself, waited for him to speak. ”

“ The thin, pallid lips twitched almost imperceptibly; the sunken eyes left her face to rove idly round the apartment wherein the man had spent so much of his life. It was a handsomely decorated place, red predominating, and expensively and solidly furnished. ”

“ Cran!”
“It is the truth; I am very ill. But I have neither the desire nor the time to discuss that now.” He looked at his watch. “Stormont and Lismore will be here directly. Miss March, I only ask that you will do what you can for a—an old man's peace of mind.”
“Mr. Cran, you are not fit to see people and talk business to-day. They may not have started. ”