"Victor?" Arthur was momentarily taken aback, a hint of surprise in his voice: "That's quite the rare guest. Please inform the meeting room that I might be a few minutes late."
The clerk nodded to go and relay the message, while Arthur turned and stepped into the nearby reception room.
As soon as the door opened, a strong tobacco aroma hit him, and the person waiting was standing by the window, back facing him, wearing a faded yet immaculately pressed gray coat, slightly water-stained trousers, and a five-year-old felt hat. He was rubbing a yellow copper nose snuff bottle with his thumb, familiar as ever, but his figure was more bloated than Arthur remembered.
The sound of footsteps made the man slowly turn around.
A slightly aged but still sharp face appeared in the morning light, bushy sideburns extending downward, connecting to a French-style short beard.
"Ah, mon ami, your newspaper arsenal is quite hard to find."
