Fischer shrugged his shoulders.
“There is more than one point of view,”
he reminded her. “Will you take my message
with you to Washington to-morrow?”
“Yes,” Pamela promised, “I will
do that. The rest, of course, remains with others.
I do not myself go so far, even,” she added,
“as to declare myself in sympathy with you.”
“And yet,” he insisted, with swift violence,
“it is your sympathy which I desire more than
anything in the world—your sympathy, your
help, your companionship; a little—a very
little at first—of your love.”
“I am afraid that I am not a very satisfactory
person from that point of view,” Pamela confessed.
“I have a great sympathy with every man who
is really out for the great things, but so far as you
are concerned, Mr. Fischer, or any one else,”
she went on, after a moment’s hesitation, “I
have no personal feeling.”
“That shall come,” he declared.
“Then please wait a little time before you talk
to me again like this,” she said, rising and
holding out her hand. “At present there
is no sign of it.”
“There is so much that I could offer you,”
he pleaded, gripping the hand which she had given
him in farewell, “so much that I could do for
your country. Believe me, I am not talking idly.”
“I do believe that,” she admitted.
“You are a very clever man, Mr. Fischer, and
I think that you represent all that you claim.
Perhaps, if we really do negotiate—”
“But you must!” he interrupted impatiently.
“You must listen to me for every reason—politically
for your country’s sake, personally because I
shall offer you and give you happiness and a position
you could never find elsewhere.”
For a moment her eyes seemed to be looking through
him, as though some vision of things outside the room
were troubling her. Her finger had already touched
the bell and a servant was standing upon the threshold.
“We shall meet in Washington,” Mr. Fischer
concluded, with an air of a prophet, as he took his
leave.
It was within half an hour of closing time that same
afternoon when Lutchester walked into James Van Teyl’s
office. The young man greeted him with some surprise.
“Will you do some business for me?” Lutchester
asked, without any preliminaries.
“Sure!”
“How many Anglo-French will you buy for me?
I can obtain credit by cable to-morrow through any
bank for twenty or thirty thousand pounds.”
“You want to buy Anglo-French?” Van Teyl
repeated softly.
His visitor nodded.
“Any news?”
Lutchester hesitated, and Van Teyl continued with
an apologetic gesture.
“I beg your pardon. That’s not my
job, anyway, to ask questions. I’ll buy
you twenty-five thousand, if you like. Guess they
can’t drop much lower.”
Lutchester sat down.
