"I think your friend Mr Barclay is coming with me."
"With you?--to Constantinople?" she exclaimed in dismay. "When?"
"In two or three days," he replied. "But you mustn't tell him I said
so," he went on. "We are going out on business--business that will
bring us both a sum of money that will be a fortune to me, if not to Mr
Barclay. We are in partnership over it."
"What nature is the business?"
"The building of a railroad to the Adriatic. We are obtaining
permission from the Sultan for its construction."
"And Max--I mean Mr Barclay--will make a large sum?" she asked with
deep interest.
"Yes, if he decides to go," replied Adam; "but I fear very much one
thing," and he fixed his dark eyes upon hers.
"What do you fear?"
"Well--how shall I put it, Miss Rolfe?" he asked. "I--I fear that he
will refuse to go because he does not wish to leave London just now."
"Why not?"
"He has an attraction here," the man laughed--"yourself."
She coloured slightly. Max had probably told this friend that they were
lovers.
"Oh! that's quite foolish. He must go, if it is really in his
interests."
"Exactly," declared Adam. "I have all my life been looking for such a
chance to make money, and it has at last arrived. He must go."
"Most certainly. I will urge him strongly."
"A word from you, Miss Rolfe, would decide him--but--well, don't you
think it would be best if you did not tell him that we had met. He
might not like it if he knew we had discussed his business affairs--eh?"
"Very well," she said. "I will say nothing. When he speaks to me about
the suggested journey I will strongly advise him to go in his own
interests."
"Yes; do. It will be the means of putting many thousands of pounds into
both our pockets. The matter is, in fact, entirely in your hands. May
I with safety leave it there?"
"With perfect safety, Mr Adam," was her reply. "It is, perhaps,
fortunate that we should have met like this to-night."
"Fortunate!" he echoed. "Most fortunate for all of us. If you are
really Mr Barclay's friend you will see that he goes with me."
"I am his friend, and he shall go if it is to his interest to do go."
"Ask him, and he will tell you," was the reply of the man who had
lounged in Park Lane as a shabby stranger, and of whom old Sam Statham
went in such deadly fear.
He went with Marion to the end of her journey, and then left her in
pretence of walking to his destination.
But after he had raised his hat to her so politely, and bent over her
hand, he turned on his heel muttering to himself--
"You think you are his friend, my poor, silly little girl! No. You
will compel him to go with me to the East, and thus become my catspaw--
the tool of Jean Adam."
And giving vent to a short, dry laugh of triumph, he went on his way.