Bulldog Drummond. Herman Cyril McNeile

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СКАЧАТЬ American." He looked a ​little apprehensive. "Let us hope the dinner will appease everybody. Otherwise——"

      But whatever fears he might have entertained with regard to the furniture in Room X, they were not destined to be uttered. Even as he spoke the door again swang open, and a man with a thick white scarf around his neck, so pulled up as almost completely to cover his face, came in. A soft hat was pulled down well over his ears, and all that the manager could swear to as regards the newcomer's appearance was a pair of deep-set, steel-grey eyes which seemed to bore through him.

      "You got my letter this morning?"

      "M'sieur le Comte de Guy?" The manager bowed deferentially and rubbed his hands together. "Everything is ready, and your three guests have arrived."

      "Good. I will go to the room at once."

      The maître d'hôtel stepped forward to relieve him of his coat, but the Count waved him away.

      "I will remove it later," he remarked shortly. "Take me to the room."

      As he followed his guide his eyes swept round the lounge. Save for two or three elderly women of doubtful nationality, and a man in the American Red Cross, the place was deserted; and as he passed through the swing doors he turned to the head waiter.

      "Business good?" he asked.

      No—business decidedly was not good. The waiter was voluble. Business had never been so poor in the memory of man … But it was to be hoped that the dinner would be to Monsieur le Comte' s liking … He personally had superintended it … Also the wines.

      "If everything is to my satisfaction you will not ​regret it," said the Count tersely. "But remember one thing. After the coffee has been brought in, I do not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances whatever." The head waiter paused as he came to a door, and the Count repeated the last few words. "Under no circumstances whatever."

      "Mais certainement, Monsieur le Comte. … I, personally, will see to it. … "

      As he spoke he flung open the door and the Count entered. It cannot be said that the atmosphere of the room was congenial. The three occupants were regarding one another in hostile silence, and as the Count entered they, with one accord, transferred their suspicious glances to him.

      For a moment he stood motionless, while he looked at each one in turn. Then he stepped forward …

      "Good evening, gentlemen"—he still spoke in French—"I am honoured at your presence." He turned to the head waiter. "Let dinner be served in five minutes exactly."

      With a bow the man left the room, and the door closed.

      "During that five minutes, gentlemen, I propose to introduce myself to you, and you to one another." As he spoke he divested himself of his coat and hat. "The business which I wish to discuss we will postpone, with your permission, till after the coffee, when we shall be undisturbed."

      In silence the three guests waited while he unwound the thick white muffler; then, with undisguised curiosity, they studied their host. In appearance he was striking. He had a short dark beard, and in profile ​his face was aquiline and stern. The eyes, which had so impressed the manager, seemed now to be a cold grey-blue; the thick brown hair, flecked slightly with grey, was brushed back from a broad forehead. His hands were large and white; not effeminate, but capable and determined: the hands of a man who knew what he wanted, knew how to get it, and got it. To even the most superficial observer the giver of the feast was a man of power: a man capable of forming instant decisions and of carrying them through. …

      And if so much was obvious to the superficial observer, it was more than obvious to the three men who stood by the fire watching him. They were what they were simply owing to the fact that they were not superficial observers of humanity; and each one of them, as he watched his host, realised that he was in the presence of a great man. It was enough: great men do not send fool invitations to dinner to men of international repute. It mattered not what form his greatness took—there was money in greatness, big money. And money was their life …

      The Count advanced first to the American.

      "Mr. Hocking, I believe," he remarked in English, holding out his hand. "I am glad you managed to come."

      The American shook the proffered hand, while the two Germans looked at him with sudden interest. As the man at the head of the great American cotton trust, worth more in millions than he could count, he was entitled to their respect …

      "That's me, Count," returned the millionaire in his nasal twang. "I am interested to know to what I am indebted for this invitation."

      ​"All in good time, Mr. Hocking," smiled the host. "I have hopes that the dinner will fill in that time satisfactorily."

      He turned to the taller of the two Germans, who without his coat seemed more like a cod-fish than ever.

      "Herr Steinemann, is it not?" This time he spoke in German.

      The man whose interest in German coal was hardly less well known than Hocking's in cotton, bowed stiffly.

      "And Herr von Gratz?" The Count turned to the last member of the party and shook hands. Though less well known than either of the other two in the realms of international finance, von Gratz's name in the steel trade of Central Europe was one to conjure with.

      "Well, gentlemen," said the Count, "before we sit down to dinner, I may perhaps be permitted to say a few words of introduction. The nations of the world have recently been engaged in a performance of unrivalled stupidity. As far as one can tell that performance is now over. The last thing I wish to do is to discuss the war—except in so far as it concerns our meeting here to-night. Mr. Hocking is an American, you two gentlemen are Germans. I"—the Count smiled slightly—"have no nationality. Or rather, shall I say, I have every nationality. Completely cosmopolitan. … Gentlemen, the war was waged by idiots, and when idiots get busy on a large scale, it is time for clever men to step in … That is the raison d'être for this little dinner. … I claim that we four men are sufficiently international to be able to disregard any stupid and petty feelings about this country and that country, and to regard the ​world outlook at the present moment from one point of view and one point of view only—our own."

      The gaunt American gave a hoarse chuckle.

      "It will be my object after dinner," continued the Count, "to try and prove to you that we have a common point of view. Until then—shall we merely concentrate on a pious hope that the Hôtel Nationale will not poison us with their food?"

      "I guess," remarked the American, "that you've got a pretty healthy command of languages, Count."

      "I speak four fluently—French, German, English, and Spanish," returned the other. "In addition, I can make myself understood in Russia, Japan, China, the Balkan States, and—America."

      His smile, as he spoke, robbed the words of any suspicion of offence. The next moment the head waiter opened the door, and the four men sat down to dine.

      It must be admitted that the average hostess, desirous of making a dinner a success, would have been filled with secret dismay at the general atmosphere in the room. The American, in accumulating his millions, had also accumulated a digestion of such an exotic and tender character that dry rusks and Vichy water were the limit of his capacity.

      Herr СКАЧАТЬ