Part 22 (1/2)

”Indeed, I will not,” roared the German. ”It would be to insult myself.”

”It would be an easy way to earn a hundred pounds, too,” said Philip.

”How dare you insult the Baron?” demanded Faust. ”What makes you think--”

”I don't think, I know!” said Philip. ”For the price of a taxi-cab fare to Tate Street, you win a hundred pounds.”

”We will all three go at once,” cried the German. ”My car is outside.

Wait here. I will have it brought to the door?”

Faust protested indignantly.

”Do not disturb yourself, Baron,” he said; ”just because a fresh reporter--”

But already the German had reached the hall. Nor did he stop there. They saw him, without his hat, rush into Piccadilly, spring into a taxi, and shout excitedly to the driver. The next moment he had disappeared.

”That's the last you'll see of him,” said Philip.

”His actions are certainly peculiar,” gasped the millionaire. ”He did not wait for us. He didn't even wait for his hat! I think, after all, I had better go to Tate Street.”

”Do so,” said Philip, ”and save yourself three hundred thousand dollars, and from the laughter of two continents. You'll find me here at lunch.

If I'm wrong, I'll pay you a hundred pounds.”

”You should come with me,” said Faust. ”It is only fair to yourself.”

”I'll take your word for what you find in the studio,” said Philip. ”I cannot go. This is my busy day.”

Without further words, the millionaire collected his hat and stick, and, in his turn, entered a taxi-cab and disappeared.

Philip returned to the Louis Quatorze chair and lit a cigarette. Save for the two elderly gentlemen on the sofa, the lounge was still empty, and his reflections were undisturbed. He shook his head sadly.

”Surely,” Philip thought, ”the French chap was right who said words were given us to conceal our thoughts. What a strange world it would be if every one possessed my power. Deception would be quite futile and lying would become a lost art. I wonder,” he mused cynically, ”is any one quite honest? Does any one speak as he thinks and think as he speaks?”

At once came a direct answer to his question. The two elderly gentlemen had risen and, before separating, had halted a few feet from him.

”I sincerely hope, Sir John,” said one of the two, ”that you have no regrets. I hope you believe that I have advised you in the best interests of all?”

”I do, indeed,” the other replied heartily ”We shall be thought entirely selfish; but you know and I know that what we have done is for the benefit of the shareholders.”

Philip was pleased to find that the thoughts of each of the old gentlemen ran hand in hand with his spoken words. ”Here, at least,” he said to himself, ”are two honest men.”

As though loath to part, the two gentlemen still lingered.

”And I hope,” continued the one addressed as Sir John, ”that you approve of my holding back the public announcement of the combine until the afternoon. It will give the shareholders a better chance. Had we given out the news in this morning's papers the stockbrokers would have--”

”It was most wise,” interrupted the other. ”Most just.”

The one called Sir John bowed himself away, leaving the other still standing at the steps of the lounge. With his hands behind his back, his chin sunk on his chest, he remained, gazing at nothing, his thoughts far away.

Philip found them thoughts of curious interest. They were concerned with three flags. Now, the gentleman considered them separately; and Philip saw the emblems painted clearly in colors, fluttering and flattened by the breeze. Again, the gentleman considered them in various combinations; but always, in whatever order his mind arranged them, of the three his heart spoke always to the same flag, as the heart of a mother reaches toward her firstborn.