The offices of Messrs. Neville, Brooks, and Van Teyl were the scene of
something like pandemonium. Van Teyl himself, bathed in perspiration,
rushed into his room for the twentieth time. He almost flung the
newspaper man who was waiting for him through the door.
"No, we don't know a darned thing," he declared. "We've no special
information. The only reason we're up to our neck in Anglo-French is
because we've two big clients dealing."
"It's just a few personal notes about those clients we'd like to
handle."
"Oh, get out as quick as you can!" Van Teyl snapped. "This isn't a
bucket shop or a pool room. The names of our clients concerns ourselves
only."
"What do you think Anglo-French are going to do, Mr. Van Teyl?"
"I can't tell," was the prompt answer, "but I can tell what's going to
happen if you don't clear out."
The newspaper man took a hurried leave. Van Teyl seized the telephone
receiver, only to put it down with a little shout of relief as the door
opened and Lutchester entered.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've been ringing you up for an hour
and a half."
"Sorry," Lutchester replied, "I was down at the barber's the first time
you got through, and then I had some cables to send off."
"Look here," Van Teyl continued, gripping him by the shoulder, "is six
hundred and forty thousand dollars, or thereabouts, profit enough for
you on your Anglo-French?"
"It sounds adequate," Lutchester confessed, laying his hat and cane
carefully upon the table and drawing up an easy-chair. "How much is Mr.
Fischer going to lose?"
"God knows! If you allow me to sell at the present moment, you'll ease
the market, and he'll lose about what you make."
"And if I decide to hold my Anglo-French?"
"You'll have to provide us with about a couple of million dollars," Van
Teyl replied, "and I should think you would pretty well break Fischer
for a time. Frankly, he's an important client, and we don't want him
broken, even temporarily."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"Give us authority to sell," Van Teyl begged. "Can't you hear them
yapping about in the office outside? They're round me all the time like
a pack of hounds. Honestly, if I don't sell some Anglo-French before
lunch-time to-day, they look like wrecking the office."
Lutchester knocked the end of a cigarette thoughtfully against the side
of his chair.
"All right," he decided, "I don't want you to suffer any inconvenience.
Besides, I am going to Washington this afternoon. You can keep on
selling as long as the market's steady. Directly it sags, hold off. If
necessary, even buy a few more. You understand me? Don't sell a single
block under to-day's price. Keep the market at that figure. It's an
easy job, because next week Anglo-French will go up again."
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.