CHAPTER TEN
Big Business
“M
r. Campion,”
said the pale young man with the toothache, “Mr. Campion. About the papers.”
“I beg your pardon?” said the beautiful but efficient young woman at the enquiry desk, eyeing him coldly.
“Campion,” said the young man again. “A hot, fiery plant under the jurisdiction of Mars. And I’ve come about the papers. Large flat, white things. You must have heard of them. I’m sorry I can’t speak more clearly, but I’ve got a toothache. I’ll sit down here, shall I, while you ring up about me?”
He smiled at her as well as he could round the enormous pad of handkerchief which he held against his cheek and wandered away from the desk to seat himself on what appeared to be a coronation chair at one side of the tessellated marble hall. Apart from the toothache, Mr.
