When I was a junior business reporter on another newspaper, I had the good fortune to sit next to a living library of City stories. Most of the time, I couldn’t see him; over the years, his collection of ancient press releases, financial reports and takeover documents had created a wall, several feet high, that shielded him from view. Every afternoon, a cloud of smoke rose from behind the stacks, a signal that we were getting close to print deadline and Graham Searjeant had lit his pipe.