least. Here's a seat. Allowme to introduce Miss Rolfe--Mr Jean Adam."
The man of double personality bowed again, and passing Marion and herlover, seated himself at her side, commencing to chat merrily, andexplaining that he had recognised Max from the circle above. He had, itappeared, been to Dover Street an hour before, and Max's man had toldhim where his master was spending the evening.
Marion rather liked him. Max had already told her of this Frenchman whospoke English so well, and with whom he was doing business. In hisspeech he had the air and polish of the true cosmopolitan, and he alsopossessed a keen sense of humour.
Presently Marion, glancing again at her watch, declared that she mustleave. Max scarcely ever took her home. He always put her into a cab,and she descended at the corner of the street off Oxford Street, whereCunnington's assistants had their big barrack-like dwelling, and walkedhome alone. It was her wish to do so, and he respected it.
Therefore all three rose, and Max went outside with her and put her intoa cab, promising to meet her on the following evening. In the bustle ofLeicester Square at that hour, he could not kiss her; but as their handsgrasped, their eyes met in a glance which both knew was one of trust andmutual affection.
And so they parted, Max returning to the lounge where the Frenchman,Jean Adam, _alias_ the Englishman John Adams, awaited him.
They had a drink at the American bar, and then promenaded up and down inthe gay crowd that nightly assembles in that popular resort. Max noddedto one or two men he knew--clubmen and _habitues_ like himself, andthen, after the show was over, they took a cab down to the Savoy tosupper.
The gay restaurant, with its crimson carpet and white decorations wascrowded. To Gustave, who allotted the tables, Max was well-known,therefore a table for two in the left-hand corner of the big room--thetable he usually occupied--was instantly secured, and the couple who hadengaged were moved elsewhere. In the season Max had supper there on anaverage three nights a week, for at the Savoy one meets all one'sfriends, and there is always music, life, and brightness after thetheatre, until the licensing regulations cut off the merriment soabruptly.
That night was no exception. The place was filled to overflowing withthe smart world, together with many American visitors, the latestmusical-comedy actresses and their male appendages, country cousins, menwhose names were household words, and women whose pasts had appeared inblack and white in the newspapers. A strange crowd, surely. Half thepeople were known to each other by sight, if not personally, and theother half were mere onlookers, filled with curiosity when Lord This orDolly That were pointed out to them.
Max and Jean Adam were seated with a bottle of Krug between them whenthe former exclaimed--
"Well, how does our business go?"
"That's the reason I wanted to see you to-night," was his companion'sreply with just a slight French accent. "I had some news fromConstantinople to-day--confidential news from the Palace," he added inan undertone, bending across the table. "I want you to read it and giveyour opinion." And producing an envelope and letter on thin paperclosely written in French, he handed it across to Barclay, as he added:"Now what is written there is the bed-rock fact, I know from independentinquiries I have made in an entirely different quarter."
Between mouthfuls of the perfectly-cooked _filet de sole_ placed beforehim Max read the letter carefully. It was signed "your devoted friendOsman," and was evidently from a Turkish official at the Yildiz Kiosk.Briefly, it was to the effect that the _irade_ of the Sultan for theconstruction of the railway from Nisch in Servia to San Giovanni diMedua, on the Adriatic, was in the hands of Muhil Pasha, one of hisMajesty's most intimate officials, and had been granted to him forservices rendered in the Asiatic provinces.
Muhil had offered to part with it for twelve thousand pounds sterling,and that the agent of a French Company had arrived in Constantinople inorder to treat with him. Muhil, however, had no love for the French,since he was Ottoman Ambassador in Paris a few years ago, and got intodisgrace there, hence he would be much more ready to sell to an Englishsyndicate.
The letter of Osman concluded by urging Adam to send instructions atonce to a certain box at the British post-office in Constantinople, andto if possible secure the valuable document which would enable a line ofrailway to be built which would pay its shareholders enormously.
"Well," exclaimed Max, as he replaced the letter in its envelope, notingthe surcharge in black--"1 piastre"--upon the blue English stamp. "Whatshall you do?"
"Do? Why we must get the twelve thousand, of course. It's a merebagatelle compared with the magnitude of the business. I've got somereports in my overcoat pocket which I'll show you after supper. We mustget the thing through, my dear Barclay. There's a big fortune in it forboth of us--a huge fortune. Why, for the past ten years every diplomatat the Sublime Porte has been at work to get it through, but has beenunsuccessful. The Sultan has always refused to let the line run throughTurkish territory, fearing lest it should be used for military transportin the event of another war. His Majesty is not particularly partial toAustria, Servia, or Bulgaria, you know," he laughed.
"And hardly surprising, in view of past events, eh?" exclaimed Max,entirely ignorant of the real character of this man, who seemed a smartman of business combined with a genial companion. Adam was apast-master in the art of fraud. He did not press the point, but merelywent on with his supper, swallowed a glass of champagne, and turned theconversation by admiring the graceful carriage of the head of a girlsitting near with a wreath of forget-me-nots across her fluffy fairhair.
"Yes," replied Max. "The poise of her head is full of grace, but--well,her face is like the carved handle of an umbrella!" Whereat hiscompanion laughed heartily. Barclay was full of quaint expressions, andof a quiet but biting sarcasm. Some of his _bons mots_ had beenrepeated from month to mouth in the clubs until they became almostpopular sayings. He was now in love entirely and devotedly with Marion,and no other woman of the thousand who passed before his eyes and smiledinto his face had the least attraction for him.
A moment later a pretty girl in pink, the Honourable Eva Townley, whowas at supper with her mother and same friends, bowed to him andlaughed, while another woman, the rather go-ahead wife of a leader atthe Chancery Bar, waved a menu at him.
Society knew Max, and many a woman had set her cap at him, hoping tocapture the tall, well-set-up and easy-going young fellow, together withthe ease and comfort which his substantial estates would afford.
Max, however, had done a few years of town life. He had become _blase_and nauseated. Since he had met Marion Rolfe the quiet, modest,unassuming and hard-working shop-assistant, the _haute monde_ bored himmore than ever. He went only where he was compelled, yet he nowadayspreferred the cheap Italian restaurant and Marion's society to thetables of the rich with their ugly women striving to fascinate, andtheir small-talk of scandal, gossip and cruel innuendo.
There is surely no world in the world like that of London--nothing socomplex, so tragic, and yet so grimly humorous, so soul-killing, and yetso reckless as our little, lax world of vanity and display that callsitself Society, the world which the _nouveau riche_ are ever seeking toenter by the back-door, and which the suburbs rush to see portrayed uponthe stage of the theatre.
Everywhere the manner and morals of Mayfair are aped nowadays. MrsBrowne-Smythe, the City clerk's wife of tattling Tooting, has her "day,"and gives her bridge-parties just as does the Duchess of Dorsetshire inGrosvenor Square; and Mrs Claude Greene, the wife of the wholesalebutcher, who was once a barmaid near the Meat Market, and now lives inmatrimonial felicity in cliquey Clapham, "requests the company of" uponthe self-same cards and with the self-same formula as the wife of JimmyJames the South African magnate in Park Lane.
Max, glad that supper was over, rose and walked with his friend out intothe big lounge where the Roumanian band were playing weird gipsymelodies, and sat at one of the little tables to smoke and sip GrandMarnier cordon rouge, being joined a few moments later
by a couple ofmen whom he knew at the club, and who appeared to be at a loose end.
At last the lights were turned down as signal that in five minutes itwould be closing time, and then rifling, Max, ignorant of the ingeniousplot, invited his friend Adam round to Dover Street for a final smoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
EXPLAINS JEAN ADAM'S SUGGESTION.
Over whiskey and soda in Barclay's chambers, Jean Adam pushed hissinister plans a trifle further.
He was aware that Max had taken the opinion of a man he knew on theStock Exchange as to the probable value of the concession for theDanube-Adriatic Railway, and that his reply had been highly favourable.Therefore he was confident that such an opportunity of making money byan honest deal Max would not let slip.
They had known each other several months, and Adam, with his engagingmanner and