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George agreed, although he was not at all sure that he did. His attention focused on the monkey as its head turned and it looked around. Perhaps it was checking to see if anyone was watching, because then it raised its paw furtively to its mouth as if dragging on the cigarette. The mechanism was smooth and quiet, George noted.
    â€˜There is a facility,’ Lorimore said, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the monkey, ‘to light the cigarette, and also a wick inside the body. Then it blows smoke out of its mouth, to complete the illusion. It was a gift from Lord Chesterton, delivered only this morning. I am, I confess, still intrigued by its workings.’
    As he spoke, the monkey looked round again. As if startled, its eyes widened with a click, and the paw holding the cigarette disappeared behind its back. A moment later, the other arm shot up and the monkey snapped a smart salute. George laughed out loud at the absurdity and cleverness of it.
    â€˜You too are impressed, Mr Archer,’ Lorimoreobserved. ‘That is good. Very good. Now,’ he held his arm out to allow George to precede him along the hall, ‘let us discuss business.’
    â€˜I’m not sure it’s really business,’ George said as they walked slowly to the end of the hall. He was walking slowly so he could look at the other tables they passed. Each one had on it an automaton. Some were crude and simple – a musical box with a large key, for instance. Others were every bit as intricate and sophisticated as the monkey – a tiny carriage; skaters on a frozen lake of glass; a lady in a crimson, velvet dress – George could not guess what the mechanism did, but she looked perfectly sculpted and beautifully lifelike.
    â€˜Everything comes down to business,’ Lorimore told George as they entered a large drawing room.
    But George hardly heard him. It was as if the displays in the hall were merely the overture to a grand opera that opened out in the drawing room. The walls were all but covered with more display cases – animals, birds, unfathomable shapes floating in tanks of viscous liquid. Two sofas were arranged facing each other in the middle of the room, almost lost amongst the clutter. Beyond them, a large carved tiger was bearing down on the figure of a man who was trying to push it away. Every level surface seemed to have on it a metal or wooden model or apparatus.
    â€˜I apologise for the distractions,’ Lorimore said,smiling at George’s evident fascination. ‘A hobby of mine, I confess. I am a collector as well as an enthusiast. Flora and fauna, automata, historical books and papers … They all interest me.’
    â€˜I understand the fascination with automata,’ George said. He bent down to examine a device that fed ball bearings down a chute after which they were channelled into different runs marked off with numerals. ‘From what I understand, your factories produce industrial versions of machines almost as impressive and clever as these?’
    â€˜Almost?’
    Perhaps there was a hint of annoyance in Lorimore’s tone, but if there was, George did not hear it. He was tracing the possible paths of the tiny metal balls. ‘Is this a clock?’ he asked, realising how the mechanism must work.
    â€˜Indeed it is. You can tell that from looking at it?’ There was no anger now, but surprise and perhaps a little respect.
    George shrugged. ‘That’s the business I’m in.’
    Lorimore nodded. ‘And talking of business …’ He motioned for George to sit on one of the large sofas that was almost lost in the huge room. He himself sat opposite, his hands resting on his bony knees, so that he looked like a spider hunched up ready to spring. ‘What is it exactly that I can do for you?’
    â€˜It’s very good of you to see me, and so promptly,’George said, uncertainly. He was not really sure what Lorimore could do.