His father had been given the baronetcy which he now enjoyed, and which, as he knew very well, might at any moment be transferred into a peerage.

He was a short, rather thick-set man, with firm jaws and keen blue eyes, carefully dressed in somewhat old-fashioned style, with horn-rimmed eyeglass hung about his neck with a black ribbon.

His hair was a little close-cropped and stubbly.

No one could have called him handsome, no one could have found him undistinguished.

Even without the knowledge of his millions, people who glanced at him recognised the atmosphere of power.
"Wonder what old Anselman's thinking about," one man asked another in an opposite corner.
"Money bags," was the prompt reply.