Van Teyl was moved to a rare flash of admiration.
“You’re a cool hand, Lutchester,” he declared, “considering you’re not a business man.”
“Fischer’s the man who’ll need to keep cool,” Lutchester remarked, lighting his cigarette. “What about a little lunch?”
The stockbroker scarcely heard him. He had struck a bell, and the office seemed suddenly filled with clerks. Van Teyl’s words were incoherent—a string of strange directions, punctuated by slang which was, so far as Lutchester was concerned, unintelligible. The whole place seemed to wake into a clamour of telephone bells, shouts, the clanging and opening of the lift gates, and the hurried tramp of footsteps in the corridors outside. Lutchester rose to his feet. He was looking very comfortable and matter-of-fact in his grey tweed suit and soft felt hat.
“Perhaps,” he observed pleasantly, “I am out of place here. Drop me a line and let me know how things are going to the Hotel Capitol at Washington.”
“That’s all right,” Van Teyl promised. “I’ll get you on the long-distance ‘phone. I was coming myself with Pamela for a few days, but this little deal of yours has set things buzzing…. Say, who’s that?”
The door opened, and Fischer paused upon the threshold. Certainly, of all the people concerned, the two speculators themselves seemed the least moved by the excitement they were causing. Fischer was dressed with his usual spick-and-span neatness, and his appearance betrayed no sign of flurry or excitement. He nodded grimly to Lutchester.
“My congratulations,” he said. “You seem to have rigged the Press here to some purpose.”
Lutchester raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t even know a newspaper man in New York,” he declared.
The newcomer gave vent to a little gesture of derision.
“Then you’ve some very clever friends! You’d better make the most of their offices. The German version of the naval battle will be confirmed and amplified within twenty-four hours, and then your Anglo-French will touch mud.”
“If that is your idea,” Lutchester remarked suavely, “why buy now? Why not wait till next week? Come,” he went on, “I will have a little flutter with you, if you like, Fischer. I will bet you five thousand dollars, and Van Teyl here shall hold the stakes, that a week hence to-day Anglo-French stand higher than they do at this moment.”
Fischer hesitated. Then he turned away.
“I am not a sportsman, Mr. Lutchester,” he said.
Lutchester brushed away a little dust from his coat sleeve.
“No,” he murmured, “I agree with you. Good morning!”
Lutchester walked out into the sun-baked streets, and with his absence Fischer abandoned his almost unnatural calm. He strode up and down the room, fuming with rage. At every fresh click of the tape machine, he snatched at the printed slip eagerly and threw it away with an oath. No one took any notice of him. Van Teyl rushed in and out, telephones clanged, perspiring clerks dashed in with copies of contracts to add to the small pile upon the desk. There came a quiet moment presently. Van Teyl wiped the perspiration from his forehead and drank a tumblerful of water.
“Fischer,” he asked, “what made you go into this so big? You must have known there was always the risk of your wireless report beating it up a little too tall.”
“It wasn’t our report at all that I went by,” Fischer confessed gloomily. “It was the English Admiralty announcement that did it. Can you conceive,” he went on, striking the table with his fist, “any nation at war, with a grain of common sense or an ounce of self-respect, issuing a statement like that?—an apology for a defeat which, damn it all, never happened! Say the thing was a drawn battle, which is about what it really was. It didn’t suit the Germans to fight it to a finish. They’d everything to lose and little to gain. So in effect they left the Britishers there and passed back behind their own minefield. So far as regards reports, that was victory enough for any one except those muddle-headed civilians at Whitehall. They deceived the world with that infernal bulletin, and incidentally me. It was on that statement I gave you my orders, not on ours.”
“It’s a damned unfortunate business!” Van Teyl sighed. “You’re only half way out yet, and it’s cost you nearly three hundred thousand.”
A dull spot of purple colour burned in Fischer’s cheeks. His upper lip was drawn in, his appearance for a moment was repulsive.
“It isn’t the money I mind,” he muttered. “It’s Lutchester.”
Van Teyl was discreetly silent. Fischer seemed to read his thoughts. He leaned across the table.
“A wonderful fellow, your friend Lutchester,” he sneered. “An Admirable Crichton of finance and diplomacy and love-making, eh? But the end isn’t just yet. I promise you one thing, James Van Teyl. He isn’t going to marry your sister.”
“I’d a damned sight sooner she married him than you!” Van Teyl blazed out.
Fischer was taken aback. He had held for so long the upper hand with this young man that for the moment he had forgotten that circumstances were changed between them. Van Teyl rose to his feet. The bonds of the last few months had snapped. He spoke like a free man.
“Look here, Fischer,” he said, “you’ve had me practically in your power for the best part of a year, but now I’m through with you. I’m out of your debt, no thanks to you, and I’m going to keep out. I am working on your business as hard as though you were my own brother, and I’ll go on doing it. I’ll get you out of this mess as well as I can, and after that you can take your damned business where you please.”
“So that’s it, is it?” Fischer scoffed. “A rich brother-in-law coming along, eh? … No, don’t do that,” stepping quickly backwards as Van Teyl’s fist shot out.
“Then keep my sister’s name out of this conversation,” Van Teyl insisted. “If you are wise, you’ll clear out altogether. They’re at it again.”
Fischer, however, glanced at the clock and remained. At the next lull, he hung down the tape and turned to his companion.
“Say, there’s no use quarrelling, James,” he declared. “I’m going to leave you to it now. Guess I said a little more than I meant to, but I tell you I hate that fellow Lutchester. I hate him just as though I were the typical German and he were the typical Britisher, and there was nothing but a sea of hate between us. Shake hands, Jim.”
Van Teyl obeyed without enthusiasm. Fischer drew a chair to the table and wrote out a cheque, which he passed across.
“I’ll drop into the bank and let them know about this,” he said. “You can make up accounts and let me hear how the balance stands. I’ll wipe it out by return, whatever it is.”
Fischer passed out of the offices a few minutes later, followed by many curious eyes, and stepped into his automobile. A young man who had brushed against him pushed a note into his hand. Fischer opened it as his car swung slowly through the traffic:—
Guards at all Connecticut factories doubled. O’Hagan caught last night in precincts of small arms factory. Was taken alive, disobeying orders. Be careful.
Fischer tore the note into small pieces. His face was grimmer than ever as he leaned back amongst the cushions. There were evil things awaiting him outside Wall Street.
CHAPTER XXXII
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Lutchester breathed the air of Washington and felt almost homesick. The stateliness of the city, its sedate and quiescent air after the turmoil of New York, impressed him profoundly. Everywhere its diplomatic associations made themselves felt. Congress was in session, and the faces of the men whom he met continually in the hotels and restaurants seemed to him some index of the world power which flung its far-reaching arms from beneath the Capitol dome.
One afternoon a few days after his arrival he called at the Hastings’ house, a great Colonial mansion within a stone’s throw of his own headquarters. The mention of his name, however, seemed to chill all the hospitality out of the smiling face of the southern butler who answered his ring. Miss Van Teyl was out, and from
the man’s manner it was obvious that Miss Van Teyl would continue to be out for a very long time. Lutchester retraced his steps to the British Embassy, where he had spent most of the morning, and made his way to the sitting-room of one of the secretaries. The Honourable Philip Downing, who was eagerly waiting for a cable recalling him to take up a promised commission, welcomed him heartily.
“Things are slack here to-day, old fellow. Let’s go out to the Country Club and have a few sets of tennis or a game of golf, whichever you prefer,” he suggested. “I’ve done my little lot till the evening.”
“Show on to-night, isn’t there?” Lutchester inquired.
“Just a reception. You’re going to put in an appearance?”
“I fancy so. Have you got your list of guests handy?”
The young man dived into a drawer and produced a few typewritten sheets.
“Alphabetical list of acceptances, with here and there a few personal notes,” he pointed out, with an air of self-satisfaction. “I go through this list with the chief while he’s changing for dinner.”
Lutchester ran his forefinger down the list.
“Senator Theodore and Mrs. Hastings,” he quoted. “By the bye, they have a niece staying with them.”
“Want a card for her?” the Honourable Philip inquired with a grin.
“I should like it sent off this moment,” Lutchester replied.
The young man took a square, gilt-edged card from a drawer by his side, filled it out at Lutchester’s dictation, rang the bell, and dispatched it by special messenger.
“I’ve got my little buzzer outside,” he observed. “We’ll make tracks for the club, if you’re ready.”
The two men played several sets of tennis and afterwards lounged in two wicker chairs, underneath a gigantic plane tree in a corner of the lawn. The place was crowded, and Philip Downing was an excellent showman.
“Washington,” he explained, “has never been so divided into opposite camps, and this is almost the only common meeting ground. Every one has to come here, of course. The German Staff play tennis and the Austrians all go in for polo. Here comes Ziduski. He’s most fearfully popular with the ladies here—does us a lot of harm, they say. He’s a great sticker for etiquette. He used to nod and call me Phil. Now you watch. He’ll bow from his waist, as though he had corsets on. As a matter of fact, he’s a good sportsman.”
Count Ziduski’s bow was stiff enough but his intention was obvious. He stopped before the two men, exchanged a somewhat stilted greeting with Philip Downing, and turned to Lutchester.
“I believe,” he said, “that I have the honour of addressing Mr. Lutchester?”
Lutchester rose to his feet.
“That is my name,” he admitted.
“We have met in Rome, I think, and in Paris,” the Count reminded him. “If I might beg for the favour of a few moments’ conversation with you.”
The two men strolled away together. The Count plunged at once into the middle of things.
“It is you, sir, I believe, whom I have to thank for the abrupt departure of Mademoiselle Sonia from New York?”
“Quite true,” Lutchester admitted.
“Under different circumstances,” the Count proceeded, “I might regard such interference in my affairs in a different manner. Here, of course, that is impossible. I speak to you out of regard for the lady in question. You appear in some mysterious manner to have discovered the fact that she was in the habit of bringing entirely unimportant and non-political messages from dear friends in France.”
“Mademoiselle Sonia,” Lutchester said calmly, “had for a brief space of time forgotten herself. She was engaged in carrying out espionage work on your behalf. I believe I may say that she will do so no more.”
The Count was a man of medium height, thin, with complexion absolutely colourless, and deep-set, tired eyes. At this moment, however, he seemed endowed with the spirit of a new virility. The cane which he grasped might have been a dagger. His smooth tones nursed a threat.
“Mr. Lutchester,” he declared, “if harm should come to her through your information, I swear to God that you shall pay!”
Lutchester’s manner was mild and unprovocative.
“Count,” he replied, “we make no war upon women. Sonia has repented, and the knowledge which I have of her misdeeds will be shared by no one. She has gone back to her country to work for the Red Cross there. So far as I am concerned, that is the end.”
The two men walked a few steps further in unbroken silence. Then the Count raised his hat.
“Mr. Lutchester,” he said, “yours is the reply of an honourable enemy. I might have trusted you, but Sonia is half of my life. I offer you my thanks.”
He strolled away, and Lutchester rejoined his young friend.
“The lion and the lamb seem to have parted safely!” the latter exclaimed. “Now sit by my side and I will show you interesting things. Those four irreproachable young men over there in tennis flannels are all from the German Embassy. The two elder ones behind are Austrians. All those women are the wives of Senators who sympathise with Germany. Their husbands look like it, don’t they? To-day they have an addition to their ranks—the thin, elderly man there, whose clothes were evidently made in London. That’s Senator Hastings. He is a personal friend of the President. Jove, what a beautiful girl with Mrs. Hastings!”
“That,” Lutchester told him, “is the young lady to whom you have just sent a card of invitation for to-night.”
“Then here’s hoping that she comes,” Philip Downing observed, finishing his glass of mint julep. “Is she a pal of yours?”
“Yes, I know her,” Lutchester admitted.
“Let’s go and butt in, then,” Downing suggested. “I love breaking up these little gatherings. You’ll see them all stiffen when we come near. I hope they haven’t got hold of Hastings, though.”
The two men rose to their feet and crossed the lawn. Fischer, who had suddenly appeared in the background, whispered something in Mrs. Hastings’ ear. She swung around to Pamela, a second too late. Pamela, with a word of excuse to the young man with whom she was talking, stepped away from the circle and held out her hand to Lutchester.
“So you have really come to Washington!” she exclaimed.
“As a rescuer,” Lutchester replied. “I feel that I have a mission. We cannot afford to lose your sympathies. May I introduce Philip Downing?”
Pamela shook hands with the young man and took her place between them.
“I’ve been envying you your seat under the tree,” she said. “Couldn’t we go there for a few moments?”
Mrs. Hastings detached herself and approached them. She received Philip Downing’s bow cordially, and she was almost civil to Lutchester.
“I can’t have my niece taken away,” she protested. “We are just going in to tea, Pamela.”
Pamela shook her head.
“I am going to sit under that tree with Mr. Lutchester and Mr. Downing,” she declared. “Tea doesn’t attract me in the least, and that tree does.”
Mrs. Hastings accepted defeat with a somewhat cynical gracefulness. She closed her lorgnette with a little snap.
“You leave us all desolated, my dear Pamela,” she said. “You remind me of what your poor dear father used to say—‘Almost any one could live with Pamela if she always had her own way.’”
Pamela laughed as she strolled across the lawn.
“Aren’t one’s relatives trying!” she murmured.
CHAPTER XXXIII
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Philip Downing very soon justified the profession to which he belonged by strolling off with some excuse about paying his respects to some acquaintances. Pamela and Lutchester immediately dropped the somewhat frivolous tone of their conversation.
“You know that things are moving with our friend Fischer?” she began.
“I gathered so,” Lutchester assented.
“His scheme is growing into shape,” she went on. “You know what wonder
ful people his friends are for organising. Well, they are going to start a society all through the States and nominate for its president—Uncle Theodore.”
“Will they have any show at all?” Lutchester asked curiously.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Who can tell? The German-Americans are very powerful indeed all through the West, and then the pacifists will join them. You see, I believe that although the soul of the country is with the Allies, England is the most tactless country in the world. She is always giving little pinpricks to the Government over here, either about maritime law or one thing or another. Then all those articles in the papers about America being too proud to fight, the sneering tone of some, even, of the leading reviews, did a lot of harm. Uncle Theodore is going to stand for what they call the true neutrality. That is to say, no munitions, no help for either side.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about American politics,” Lutchester confessed, “but I shouldn’t think he’d have an earthly chance.”
“Money is immensely powerful,” she went on reflectively, “and many of the great money interests of the country are controlled by German-Americans. Mr. Fischer has almost thrown me over politically, but Uncle Theodore is crazy about the idea of a German pledge to protect America against Japan. That is going to be the great argument which he will keep up his sleeve until after the nomination.”
“Fischer’s trump card,” Lutchester observed. “He hasn’t shown you a certain autograph letter yet, I suppose?”
She shook her head.
“He may have shown it to Uncle Theodore. I’m afraid he doesn’t mean to approach me again. He seems to have completely changed his attitude towards me since the night he saw us at the Ritz-Carlton dining together. He was going to show me the letter the first day after his arrival in Washington. Instead of that, he has been in the house for hours at a time without making the slightest attempt to see me.”
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