Bulldog Drummond. Herman Cyril McNeile

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      Von Gratz did his best to keep his end up, but a she was apparently in a chronic condition of fear that the gaunt American would assault him with violence, he cannot be said to have contributed much to the gaiety of the meal.

      ​And so to the host must be given the credit that the dinner was a success. Without appearing to monopolise the conversation he talked ceaselessly and well. More—he talked brilliantly. There seemed to be no corner of the globe with which he had not a nodding acquaintance at least; while with most places he was as familiar as a Londoner with Piccadilly Circus. But to even the most brilliant of conversationalists the strain of talking to a hypochondriacal American and two Germans—one greedy and the other frightened—is considerable; and the Count heaved an inward sigh of relief when the coffee had been handed round and the door closed behind the waiter. From now on the topic was an easy one—one where no effort on his part would be necessary to hold his audience. It was the topic of money—the common bond of his three guests. And yet, as he carefully cut the end of his cigar, and realised that the eyes of the other three were fixed on him expectantly, he knew that the hardest part of the evening was in front of him. Big financiers, in common with all other people, are fonder of having money put into their pockets than of taking it out. And that was the very thing the Count proposed they should do—in large quantities. …

      "Gentlemen," he remarked, when his cigar was going to his satisfaction, "we are all men of business. I do not propose therefore to beat about the bush over the matter which I have to put before you, but to come to the point at once. I said before dinner that I considered we were sufficiently big to exclude any small arbitrary national distinctions from our minds. As men whose interests are international, ​such things are beneath us. I wish now to slightly qualify that remark." He turned to the American on his right, who with his eyes half closed was thoughtfully picking his teeth. "At this stage, sir, I address myself particularly to you."

      "Go right ahead," drawled Mr. Hocking.

      "I do not wish to touch on the war—or its result; but though the Central Powers have been beaten by America and France and England, I think I can speak for you two gentlemen"—he bowed to the two Germans—"when I say that it is neither France nor America with whom they desire another round. England is German's main enemy; she always has been, she always will be."

      Both Germans grunted assent, and the American's eyes closed a little more.

      "I have reason to believe, Mr. Hocking, that you personally do not love the English?"

      "I guess I don't see what my private feelings have got to do with it. But if it's of any interest to the company you are correct in your belief."

      "Good." The Count nodded his head as if satisfied. "I take it then that you would not be averse to seeing England down and out."

      "Wal," remarked the American, "you can assume anything you feel like. Let's get to the show-down."

      Once again the Count nodded his head; then he turned to the two Germans.

      "Now you two gentlemen must admit that your plans have miscarried somewhat. It was no part of your original programme that a British Army should occupy Cologne. … "

      ​"The war was the act of a fool," snarled Herr Steinemann. "In a few years more of peace, we should have beaten those swine. … "

      "And now—they have beaten you." The Count smiled slightly. "Let us admit that the war was the act of a fool if you like, but as men of business we can only deal with the result … the result, gentlemen, as it concerns us. Both you gentlemen are sufficiently patriotic to resent the presence of that army at Cologne I have no doubt. And you, Mr. Hocking, have no love on personal grounds for the English. … But I am not proposing to appeal to financiers of your reputation on such grounds as those to support my scheme. … It is enough that your personal predilections run with and not against what I am about to put before you—the defeat of England … a defeat more utter and complete than if she had lost the war. … "

      His voice sank a little, and instinctively his three listeners drew closer.

      "Don't think that I am proposing this through motives of revenge merely. We are business men, and revenge is only worth our while if it pays. This will pay. I can give you no figures, but we are not of the type who deal in thousands, or even hundreds of thousands. There is a force in England which, if it be harnessed and led properly, will result in millions coming to you. … It is present now in every nation—fettered, inarticulate, unco-ordinated. … It is partly the result of the war—the war that the idiots have waged. … Harness that force, gentlemen, co-ordinate it, and use it for your own ends. … That is my proposal. Not only will you humble that cursed ​country to the dirt, but you will taste of power such as few men have tasted before. … " The Count stood up, his eyes blazing. "And I—I will do it for you."

      He resumed his seat, and his left hand, slipping off the table, beat a tattoo on his knee.

      "This is our opportunity—the opportunity of clever men. I have not got the money necessary: you have. … " He leaned forward in his chair, and glanced at the intent faces of his audience. Then he began to speak …

      Ten minutes later he pushed back his chair.

      "There is my proposal, gentlemen, in a nutshell. Unforeseen developments will doubtless occur; I have spent my life overcoming the unexpected. What is your answer?"

      He rose and stood with his back to them by the fire, and for several minutes no one spoke. Each man was busy with his own thoughts, and showed it in his own particular way. The American, his eyes shut, rolled his toothpick backwards and forwards in his mouth slowly and methodically; Steinemann stared at the fire, breathing heavily after the exertions of dinner: von Gratz walked up and down—his hands behind his back—whistling under his breath. Only the Comte de Guy stared unconcernedly at the fire, as if indifferent to the result of their thoughts. In his attitude at that moment he gave a true expression to his attitude on life. Accustomed to play with great stakes, he had just dealt the cards for the most gigantic gamble of his life. … What matter to the three men, who were looking at the hands he had given them, that only a master criminal could have conceived ​such a game? The only question which occupied their minds was whether he could carry it through. And on that point they had only their judgment of his personality to rely on.

      Suddenly the American removed the toothpick from his mouth, and stretched out his legs.

      "There is a question which occurs to me, Count, before I make up my mind on the matter. I guess you've got us sized up to the last button; you know who we are, what we're worth, and all about us. Are you disposed to be a little more communicative about yourself? If we agree to come in on this hand, it's going to cost big money. The handling of that money is with you. Wal—who are you?"

      Von Gratz paused in his restless pacing and nodded his head in agreement; even Steinemann, with a great effort, raised his eyes to the Count's face as he turned and faced them. …

      "A very fair question, gentlemen, and yet one which I regret I am unable to answer. I would not insult your intelligence by giving you the fictitious address of—a fictitious Count. Enough that I am a man whose livelihood lies in other people's pockets. As you say, Mr. Hocking, it is going to cost big money; but compared to the results the costs will be a flea-bite. … Do I look—and you are all of you used to judging men—do I look the type who would steal the baby's money-box which lay on the mantelpiece, when the pearls could be had for opening the safe. … You will have to trust me, even as I shall have to trust you. … You will СКАЧАТЬ