Adam found himself called up from his window to Jules’s office. Jules handed him the letter. ‘What do you think of Thew?’
‘Vain, self-indulgent and lazy and he will eventually make trouble,’ said Constant.
‘Fire him, close the offices of the London Reinvestment Guarantee Banking Corporation, tell Ledger to take the books, the safe, and the key, and to put the name on his notice-board. We’ll just keep the name by us for future use,’ commanded Jules.
Adam got up. ‘I will.’
‘And,’ said Jules irritably, ‘I don’t want you down at that window any more; I want you in an office. Tell William to give you an office. I want you to run the London businesses.’
Adam countered humbly, ‘But I don’t know anything about these businesses, Mr. Bertillon: neither investments, banking, nor insurance.’
‘Neither do I,’ laughed Jules, in surprise, ‘at least not much: you don’t make money by knowing anything. You make money by having a game and employing smart dumbbells to work at it for you. I’m setting you up, Adam! You run the Insurance Company, but you employ an old insurance manager to do it for you. Isn’t that sufficient? Go on: if you want to know anything, ask Alphendéry. That’s what I keep him for!’
Adam retreated and in a speechless daze found himself shortly installed in the room with the strongbox, where the gold was kept, with a beautiful glass-topped carved desk, ten drawers, two bookcases, and a map of the Mediterranean. Alphendéry was delighted at the innovation and every time business palled nipped round to Adam’s room for a whiff of conversation. Adam, after waiting honestly for some work to put in an appearance, for three days, set himself out to finish his book of poems, and he presently made such progress that he was able to approach a publisher and promise the book for early spring. Alphendéry almost danced with pleasure at this and said, ‘Wouldn’t it be too funny if your book of poems proved to be the only constructive thing this bank ever produced?’
‘It’s also keeping forty Paris homes going,’ grinned Adam. ‘Isn’t that something?’
Thew got the sack, with three months’ salary, a good reference, and a heavy trouncing from James Ledger, who was delighted to find himself so deep in the bank’s affair and who also took a private pleasure in censuring people who didn’t ‘toe the mark’ in his estimation.
Thew wrote two letters to Jules Bertillon, one insolent and complaining and (after the trouncing from Ledger) one pitiful and pathetic, ‘Am I to go back into the helpless misery I came from? What chance have I of ever getting a job again. I admit I was foolish, vain and unreasonable. Take me back. I will work as a clerk in your new insurance company: I will not complain, even if I only get three pounds a week. I have a wife with cancer and an old mother.’
He wrote the same to Adam Constant. Jules came into Constant the same day and murmured, ‘Write to the poor wretch and tell him I’ll accept his offer: he’s to work in the London Bank Deposits Insurance Company as a clerk—no gadding about—for four pounds a week, and a raise to six pounds when we start to get premiums.’
Adam, though, had moments of amazement: the ‘London businesses’ only had entries on one side of the ledger, the debit side—advertisements, leases, solicitors’ fees, incorporation fees, paid-up capital, taxes, salaries, trips to London. And this Mississippi of cash flowed out without a murmur from Jules, without a sign of fluster, embarrassment or worry, without a demand for a return: idle employees were kept on the books for months and if thrown out, were only thrown out for outrageous impertinence and were usually re-engaged if their case was pathetic. The only conclusion that Adam came to was that Jules was indeed wonderfully rich and that there was indeed some high financial interest behind him. And on this point Alphendéry, frank usually, was hazy and of two minds.
Adam had to leave off his poems and make another trip to London before Christmas and this was to engage a manager for the Bank Insurance Company. The first man had been unsatisfactory. Constant therefore chose this time an Australian who had had long experience with a big insurance company in the United States, a large, slowgoing, genial, confiding fellow, ruddy, with a thick white-blond thatch and seagoing bright blue eyes: his name, Noel Dinkum. Everything he was given to do made Dinkum happy: he undertook to confer with Ledger, send out circulars, keep a stamp book, train a stenographer, organize the ‘service’: he was to receive further instructions, and to learn how many men he was to employ, from Paris ‘next week.’
And thus for weeks he was left posting circulars: Jules slept, Adam wrote poems, Ledger wrote letters cheerfully covering every stage in the business, Dinkum sent in his checks for salary and anxiously inquired of Adam whether he should pay three pounds or three pounds five shillings to the stenographer, and another distinguished name appeared in the commercial directory.
* * *
Scene Sixty-five: The Gemini Angry
The telephone rang and Jules said, ‘Yes, Jacques? What? What did you do that for? O.K. I’ll see you later. O.K.’ He looked at William and Michel, ‘That’s Manray. He says he refused to give service to Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern this morning. How did that come about, Alphendéry? Didn’t you tell Manray and all those boys downstairs to give Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern every help?’
‘I did. But don’t forget they get it free and as soon as you do a German a favor, he gets a sense of injustice, if he’s the wrong sort of German; which they probably are, I’m thinking.’
‘Go and ask Jacques what the row is about. I’ll see the Gemini alone first.’
In the corridor Alphendéry crossed Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern who looked at him superciliously and barely greeted him. ‘They look pompous: storms brewing.’
William touched him on the shoulder. ‘They kicked me out. That idiot brother of mine: he would do anything for a stranger, as long as he was sure he could insult his real friends. Let’s get Jacques up and get the lowdown.’
Jacques Manray came up with an honest busy face of injustice. They called him up twenty times in a morning demanding quotations and asking questions, so that he had made three mistakes of various degrees of loss to the firm.
‘They treat me like a corporal in the German Army. They’re only parasites. You don’t see it and Mr. Bertillon doesn’t see it, but I face them all day long and have to listen. They care for nobody. Reciprocal business? Not the shadow of it. Nevertheless, we’ve thrown them many thousands in commodity business.’
Alphendéry then tapped on Jules’s door. The conversation was heated inside. Alphendéry, at Jules’s cross ‘Come in,’ plunged in, and without his usual tact began to berate the heavenly twins for their discourtesy to employees, their irritation technique, and their bad faith in the matter of reciprocity.
Impudently and proudly, Rosenkrantz replied, ‘It’s impossible to get a client for you gentlemen: you have the worst reputation in Paris.’
‘True,’ Jules said. ‘I’ve had the worst reputation in Paris for twenty years and more; so has every other small bank. But we all survive … You don’t know how to do business, Rosenkrantz. Reputation! I flout reputation! Our business doesn’t require reputation: it requires execution.’
‘Manray cuts me off in the middle of a conversation,’ cried Rosenkrantz. ‘He resents my nationality. I distinctly heard him mutter, ‘Plaguy Huns!”
‘Why, he has a German wife!’ cried Alphendéry.
‘No matter, do not contradict me!’ Guildenstern cut in. ‘I say what I say: there is an organized sabotage in the downstairs office against us. I do not go into causes. I insist on an investigation and sanctions being applied against the guilty party. I could lay my finger on him at once. If you demand the name …’
‘Our relations have not been happy,’ said Alphendéry. ‘Who is to share out the blame?’
‘Speaking for ourselves, our conduct has been blameless. We put in an installation, we spent money on advertising: we employed run
ners. We have been all over Paris dining, visiting, putting your name about, with our own. And what is the answer we get? That your house is unreliable, speculative, that no one knows its funds, that its funds are abroad, that it has enemies in the government, that yours is the most unreliable house in Paris, that it has no big backing as we were led to suppose: by what insinuations, we, of course, disdain to recall. If we had known this, beforehand—I must say it, I must underline it—poor as we were, without resources, we should not have gone into business with you, thus blemishing a long and honorable business career. It is more than a loss in present prestige: it is a mortgage on our future here.’
‘For the rest,’ threatened Rosenkrantz, ‘we know very well what prompted you: you had no intention of really giving us assistance, and you counted on the complaisance of the French courts towards Frenchmen. There’s an answer to that. The sinews of justice in this country are well known! Ha, ha!’
How can anyone be so unpleasant? thought Alphendéry. Of course, it is nothing but a Chinese mask to frighten us; where did they get that Oriental stuff? He held out some papers, given to him by Jacques Manray: ‘These accounts: you charged our clients for cables, and we did the cabling ourselves; therefore you pocket the cable charge. There are other items; I intended to leave them till we came to the end of the six-months’ contract and to our accounting.’
‘There may have been some error made by our accountant; but your sabotage of us had some other reason. We must have a sufficient reason, and some compensation! This is mere accounting!’
Alphendéry said bitterly, ‘I like your generosity: you come here, miserable exiles, wretched expatriates, the future glowering at you over native land, and here, nowhere to turn. Mr. Bertillon and I take you in, give you a home and a business, and at the first contretemps you rob our clients, upset our workers, and ask for a compensation into the bargain … Don’t you think you’re scandalous?’
‘We did not come here for recriminations,’ Guildenstern declared, tapping his foot. ‘We came here to demand that you reprimand Manray, the employee concerned, and discharge him if he remains insubordinate. Or at least transfer him to another department. If the sabotage continues we will be obliged to have recourse to measures which we had hoped not to use. That is all. Good morning, gentlemen!’ They started to march gravely out of the office. Alphendéry went after them.
‘Mr. Rosenkrantz!’
Guildenstern turned in the doorway. ‘We came to speak to the head of this institution. We did not come to suffer interpellation by anyone whatsoever. We have spoken to him; we have made ourselves clear. There is nothing to discuss. Good morning.’
‘The prigs,’ Jules said, cheerful on account of the last acknowledgment of himself. ‘They seem to be business getters, though, don’t they? Call Jacques and tell him to pipe down: he ought to forget his wartime hates now.’
‘Oh, Jules, you don’t realize what those junkers are like,’ protested Alphendéry, pallid since the defiance thrown at him by the two. He was brave for others, but for himself he couldn’t stand insult.
The next morning, Jacques Manray came up to Alphendéry in a sweat of fury. ‘They insult me over the phone, they demand to talk to someone else; they threaten to report me to Mr. Bertillon. And when I said I’d pass them to you, for you can talk German to them, they refused, saying that they only deal with the Chief of the House. I won’t do a thing for them. And the boys are all up in arms.’
Alphendéry went to see William who said laxly, ‘Oh, get rid of them; we’ve got enough on them, haven’t we? We can always say they sabotaged us, didn’t pass us any orders, charged our clients for expenses, fraudulently. Isn’t that enough? Write them a letter telling them no more honey. They signed with you, didn’t they? They found out they made a mistake and they’re trying to smoodge round Jules, but they’re sunk. He’s half inclined to stick up for them and let them ride roughshod over faithful old employees, because they always call for him as if he were a king and visit him as if they were ambassadors from Germany.’
‘Will you authorize me to write this letter?’
‘Sure! Why, they’re getting you, too, with their officialdom! Don’t take it to heart, Michel. They are not the first pickpockets we have thrown out—nor the last.’
They therefore concocted a letter between them and sent it after getting Jules’s lazy consent. He was sick of them; although, if they appeared, he thought they were fair game and then willingly played the part they handed him.
The very next morning the ambassadors from Germany to the Bertillon Bank hove in sight.
‘We insist on having Mr. Alphendéry brought in.’
‘Talk to me,’ said Jules hotly. ‘I’m the head here: no one else has anything to say.’
‘If we are not readmitted at once, our demands satisfied, Jacques Manray at least transferred, and Mr. Alphendéry’s real position in the firm revealed to us, we have no other course but to sue.’
Jules tried to pacify them, both because he had nothing else to do at the moment and because the Parouart, Wade and Carrière cases had for the first time made him tired of suits. Alphendéry arrived on wings, armed for them, having tossed and turned the affair over since the day before.
‘Gentlemen, I am obliged to tell you you are wrong on twenty-two counts and that if you go to law you will get nothing but a bill of costs!’ He laughed, his white teeth danced, he positively caressed them with a glance.
‘We’ll see to that.’
‘Moreover, don’t forget that you are aliens in this country. I don’t say that because it means anything to us: as you know I personally have always been your deepest friend; but law courts habitually treat a foreigner worse than a native.’
Guildenstern thrust back, ‘Don’t forget that you yourselves can’t very well stand another lawsuit. We know that you have two million francs tied up in the Bank of France already, more in the Crédit, more in the Bank of Paris. We have nothing to lose but a desk. You are ready to crumble. We can bring you down. You have no alternative but to compromise with us.’
‘You still have something to learn—’ began Alphendéry, but Jules broke in, ‘What would be your demands?’
Alphendéry signaled to Jules to let him continue, but Jules rudely turned sideways so that he would not see him. This was perceived by both the complainants, who likewise turned their backs on him.
‘First,’ said Guildenstern, ‘who is the last authority in this institution: and to whom have we the pleasure of talking when we talk to Mr. Alphendéry?’
‘Talk to me. I am the bank,’ said Jules, in a high tone. ‘Mr. Alphendéry is my employee like any other.’
‘Has Mr. Alphendéry any say in the bank’s policies?’
‘None whatever: he is a mere salaried employee. He has nothing whatever to do with the policy of the bank.’
‘Then we are to ignore him? We are to ignore the letter sent by him to us yesterday?’
‘Certainly. The letter was sent without my knowledge. I didn’t want it. I was not consulted.’
Alphendéry had gone very pale and said nothing.
‘Then’ (triumphantly) ‘if that is his position, how is it that we have an agreement signed by him?’
Jules stirred, looked at his long white fingers tapping on the table. ‘You insisted on signing with Alphendéry. Who am I to stop you? Alphendéry is of no importance. He has not even power of attorney. Your funeral! If you look at the paper you see it has no seal, no counter-signature. Your haste!’
Guildenstern said impatiently, ‘It’s a trick.’
Alphendéry rushed in, in a hard voice, ‘You have only yourselves to blame. You came here and hoped to get the wedge in through me. You began by dividing the bank against itself. German politics! You thought you’d get Jew against Gentile, subordinate authority against senior, me against Mr. Bertillon. You worked the Jewish-brotherhood racket with me
, trying to wheedle the secrets of the bank out of me, and then you tried to sap behind my back in conference with Mr. Jules. You have the hate of both instead of the confidence of all. You expect Frenchmen to work under the whip like your countrymen?’
Rosenkrantz flushed and turned to him, but Guildenstern turned quick as a snake to Jules: ‘Since this man has no authority here, why does he insult us? Will you ask him to leave the room!’
Jules, irritated beyond endurance by the whole thing, which he had started as a tragicomedy, said, ‘Leave us alone, Alphendéry.’
‘I have only worked for your interest, Jules. Why do you allow these two men to flatter you at my expense?’
‘Leave the room, I tell you.’
A despicable triumph showed on the faces of Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern.
Rushing blindly out, Michel ran into William.
William looked, swung to the door. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Ask him. He threw me out at the request of our faithful friends, the Heavenly Twins.’
‘He’s out of his mind.’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m never coming back again.’
House of All Nations Page 61
