Herr Braum smiled at Warren. “Matters have not gone well for you to-night. For a financial expert, to lose so much money!” He made a little clicking noise with his teeth.
“In finance,” said Warren, “one does not always win from the first deal. One must have courage, and see the game through.”
“That is to say,” said the German, “if one has the financial strength to see the game through to the end.”
Warren eyed him steadily. “In England, we do not engage in games unless we can pay if we lose,” he said. He picked up the cards and shuffled them. “Let us play a game until the Minister returns,” he said. “We two will play alone—Virginio here can Bank for us. Unless, perhaps,” he added, “your country has not the financial resources of my own?”
The German smiled. “A war of international finance. M’sieur, let us begin.”
The Minister returned after the second hand, and took another glass of the champagne. “M’sieur,” said Warren, “I ask your pardon, but this game is between us two. Herr Braun has doubted my financial standing, and—in our English idiom—I go to trim the pants off him.”
Rita translated quickly, and in Rabelaisian manner. The Minister laughed, and took another cigar. “This will be good to watch,” he said. “Germany against England, to the death. Proceed, Messieurs.”
Virginio dealt the cards again. “A hundred dinars,” said the German insolently, and threw a note down on the left-hand card. “That is, if that is not too high a stake.”
Warren beckoned to the waiter. “Bring counters,” he said. He turned to the German, laying down his note upon the centre card. “M’sieur, I suggest that one yellow counter counts a hundred dinars, a blue one five hundred dinars, and a red one a thousand dinars.”
The German moistened his lips. “That will be convenient.”
The Minister leaned across the table and filled another glass for himself. “This is indeed a game.”
They played on for an hour. Slowly the place was emptying, and the band beat more slowly, the thick air grew less oppressive. Virginio sat dealing, impassive, hardly moving. Theopoulos sat with one arm around Hélène and lounging in his seat, smoking innumerable cigars. Pepita leaned both elbows on the table, watching the game intently, a glass beneath her hands. At Warren’s side the pile of coloured chips grew steadily.
At last he paused. “M’sieur,” he said, “I am desolated, but the fortune does not seem to be with you to-night. Would you prefer that we should stop?”
“By no means,” said the German. “We will go on.”
“For the honour of Germany,” said Warren softly. “It is as you wish, M’sieur.” He turned to the Minister. “I fear that this must be infinitely boring, M’sieur.”
“By no means,” said the Laevatian thickly.
Warren bowed. “For me,” he said, looking at his watch, “I do not agree. It is late; it is not good to be awake beyond five o’clock. Soon we must make an end; if M’sieur will agree, from now onwards we play only with the red counters.”
The German nodded shortly. Pepita laughed, tense, and a little shrill. “I declare—the English think of nothing but their beds.”
In half an hour the pale light was visible around the edges of the curtains at the windows; the band was silent. The German got up suddenly from the table. “I will not go further.”
Warren nodded gravely. “As you wish, M’sieur. I am desolated that your fortune has been so unfavourable.” He turned to Virginio. “And the count?”
The croupier figured with a paper and a pencil. “Eighteen thousand and seven hundred dinars.” He passed the pad to Theopoulos. “M’sieur le Ministre perhaps would verify the account?” Theopoulos yawned, and leaned erect. “It is in order,” he said heavily. “Eighteen thousand and seven hundred dinars, from Herr Braum to M’sieur Ouarren. Over nineteen hundred of your English sterling. It makes a record for the Gonea.”
“I will send a draft during the day,” said the German shortly. He left them with a formal bow, and went towards the entrance, outlined in grey light.
The others followed him, and dispersed in the chilly morning streets.
Warren went back to his hotel, and slept till midday; then he got up and had a bath, dressed carefully, and went downstairs to lunch. As he passed through the hall, the porter handed him an envelope; it contained Herr Braum’s cheque upon a Berlin bank.
He slept again after lunch, then walked by the river for an hour. He dined alone, and went to the Gonea about ten o’clock.
Pepita came to him. “M’sieur is now satisfied?”
“But certainly. It was well arranged, that. For to-night, also, I desire to make the party, to play cards with M. Theopoulos.”
“I declare, M’sieur, it will be necessary to have care. It will not be wise that you should win from M. Theopoulos.”
He smiled. “Mademoiselle, you must be still one half asleep. It is not my intention to win.”
She pouted. “M’sieur—I do not think you are an honest man. I have sympathy for the poor Herr Braum.”
He smiled again. “To-night, then, you may have sympathy for the poor M. Warren.”
He stopped a waiter. “Ask M. Virginio if he will visit us, to take a glass of wine.”
He went to meet the saturnine young man as he approached. “It was well arranged, last night,” he said. He passed an envelope to the other. “That, I think, will find itself in order—eighteen hundred and seventy-six dinars, thirty cents.”
The other bowed. “M’sieur is punctilious to keep a bargain.”
“It would not be possible to do business otherwise. To-night also, we will make the party—yes? This time, again, I wish to play with M. Theopoulos, and to lose money.”
“Assuredly. I do not think that Herr Braum will accompany him to-night.”
“So? For what reason?”
“One has said that Herr Braum to-day was received coldly to-day by the Minister. One has also said that this evening the Minister has received M. Potiscu, and that for an hour they have discussed your business, M’sieur.”
Warren nodded slowly. “That may be.”
He went back to Pepita; presently they were joined again by Hélène, Rita, and Virginio. Presently Theopoulos arrived; he came sauntering to their table.
Warren rose to meet him. “This is indeed a pleasure, M’sieur. Permit that I pour for you a glass of wine. Herr Braum, he is not with you to-night?”
The Minister shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know what has become of him. Perhaps he has returned to Germany.”
“I was desolated at his bad fortune last night. I wished to offer him the return game.”
The Minister chuckled. “I do not think, M’sieur, that he would wish to play.”
Warren looked concerned. “Then you should play for him, M’sieur. I won a large amount of money; it is right that there should be the return game. The game of Polski Bank is governed much by chance; it is impossible that chance should run in one way all the time.”
The Minister eyed him narrowly. “One would imagine so, M’sieur. But certainly we will play again. This time, perhaps, I trim the pants from you, is it not so?”
“I hope not, M’sieur.”
His hopes were unfulfilled. When in the cold dawn the party finally broke up, he owed the Minister two thousand and seventy-five pounds sterling.
He rose from the table. “It is true, M’sieur,” he said a little ruefully, “the luck does not run in the same way for two evenings running.” He produced a cheque-book. “I can write you now my draft, M’sieur—or perhaps it would be more convenient if I obtain notes in dinars during the day?”
The Minister grasped him affectionately by the arm. “That will be the more convenient, dear M’sieur Ouarren,” he said silkily. “We are here in Visgrad, and an English cheque will not be so good. But do not derange yourself. In the afternoon, at about five o’clock, we meet at the Ministry to discuss the tank ships for the Oil Development?”
Warren
nodded. “That will be a suitable occasion, M’sieur. I will obtain the notes by then.”
He walked for a little in the town before returning to his hotel. A few early ox-carts went creaking through the streets; in the houses there was a faint stir of awakening life. He stood for a few moments by the bridge over the river, drawing long, deep breaths; the air was fresh after the staleness of the cabaret. It was faintly aromatic, perfumed with the dust, the wood smoke, pines, and garlic of the town.
Far to the north, he thought of Sharples, grey and desolate in the same dawn, bitterly idle.
“Well,” he said, half to himself, “we’re on the way.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE Consul tapped his pince-nez nervously upon the desk. “It was good of you to come down, Mr. Warren,” he began. “The Ambassador wanted me to have a word with you.”
“Oh, yes?”
The Consul coughed. “The Ambassador feels very strongly that it is the duty of the English community in Visgrad to set an example of probity and correct behaviour in these Balkan states.” He coughed again.… “After all, you will understand better than most of us that it is on those principles that our commercial prosperity is founded.”
“Hadn’t you better tell me what you’re driving at?”
“It’s about those parties of yours at this night-club the Gonea, Mr. Warren. The Ambassador was not at all pleased when he heard about them.”
Warren nodded slowly. “I’m exceedingly sorry if they don’t fit in with his ideas,” he said. “But I really don’t see what it’s got to do with him.”
The Consul raised his eyebrows. “Is it correct that on successive evenings you have won, and lost, sums up to two thousand pounds a night?”
“That is so.”
“Well, Mr. Warren—as of course you know—the Ambassador is the head of the British community in this country. When a man as well recommended as you are arrives in Visgrad and begins to gamble on that scale, and—if I may say so—in the most dubious company, it naturally engages the attention of the Embassy. And I may tell you frankly, Mr. Warren, that the Embassy don’t like it.”
There was a silence in the room. “You mean,” said Warren, “that unless I mend my ways I shall no longer be persona grata at the Embassy.”
“You put it very bluntly. But—well, that is the gist of it.”
“That means, the British Government would withdraw their support. They’d tell the Laevatian Government that they’d be wiser not to deal with me?”
“I cannot recall such a case. But in the extreme, the Ambassador might decide to take that action.”
Warren smiled. “Well,” he said, “you can tell the Ambassador that I’m going to mend my ways. I don’t think it will be necessary for me to gamble on that scale again—that’s served its turn. But I tell you, I’m not going home without my order. And you know how business is done out here as well as I do.”
The Consul sighed. “I know—and that’s what makes it difficult. However, I’ll tell the Ambassador what you have said, and I am sure he will be satisfied.”
For three days Warren worked for eighteen hours a day. He engaged a sitting-room as an office and obtained the services of a stenographer; he spent the business hours in conferences, principally at the Treasury. The afternoons and evenings were spent in getting out new drafts for the next day. Before going to bed he dropped in for an hour at the Gonea with Pepita; that was his sole diversion.
At the end of that time he had reached the point where he could go no further without consultation with the market in London.
He explained this to M. Potiscu at the Treasury. “It is necessary that I return to London for a short time to explore the underwriting,” he said in French. “Also, I will arrange for the preparation of the plans of the tank ships, for the Ministry of Marine. In fifteen days I will return again; in the meantime, the Cabinet will no doubt consider these, the Heads of our Agreement.” He indicated the papers in his hand.
M. Potiscu, small and rotund, and very Eastern, said, “May you go in peace, with the protection of Allah.”
Warren bowed. “I thank you infinitely. Without the work which you have done, M’sieur, and the assistance which you have given, our business could not have progressed so far.”
“You are most kind.”
Warren continued, “I wish you to know how deeply the group that I represent appreciate your assistance, M’sieur. It has occurred to me that perhaps there is some little thing that is not easily obtained in Visgrad, some present that I could bring back with me from London that would serve to indicate our gratitude?”
M. Potiscu thought for a few moments. “Always,” he said, “I have desired an umbrella, with the handle all in jewels. Jewels of all colours, blue and red and white and green, and blue again. Of a green silk, and with the stick all silver. Such umbrellas cannot be obtained in Visgrad, and I have desired one very greatly.”
Warren swallowed hard. “I am disappointed, M’sieur, that you have chosen so small a gift,” he said. “But you may rest assured—the umbrella shall be of the best that London can produce.”
“If it is possible, then, to add one more thing,” said M. Potiscu, rather rapidly, “you would bring from London a dozen bottles of your Worcestershire sauce. In the summer, you understand, the meat is sometimes not good.”
Warren left for London the next day. Travelling via Berlin he landed at Croydon at about nine o’clock at night, and drove up to his flat.
He went down to his office early in the morning, and spent the forenoon clearing the arrears of his routine work. For the afternoon he made an appointment with a firm of naval architects, who came to see him.
He outlined to them the business of the oil tankers. They discussed the proposition for an hour. “Within limits,” he said, “we can sell them what we like. But we’ve got to have a preliminary specification and a lot of drawings out within a fortnight, and then one of you will have to come out with me to Visgrad.”
“There’s no difficulty in that.”
He eyed them for a moment. “In the event of this business going through, I take it that your firm would be prepared to make the whole of the detail drawings and take entire responsibility for the design? I have in mind to build these vessels in a yard that has been closed down for a time. I don’t want to have to set up a design department of my own.”
“You need have no fears on that score, Mr. Warren. We are very well accustomed to that class of work.”
He nodded. “I know you are. That’s why I asked you to come along.” He got up from his desk. “All right, I’ll write to you to-night confirming all this. And you will get right on with the job.”
They left him, and he turned back to the consideration of a letter on his desk. It read:
St. Mary’s Hospital,
Sharples,
Northumberland.
Dear Mr. Warren,
You asked me if I could let you know if I thought of anybody who could manage the Yard. I’ve been reluctant to make a suggestion, because of course it’s not easy for a woman to really appreciate how good a man is at his work.
But I think you might investigate Mr. Grierson, who is now an assistant manager with the Clydeside Ship and Foundry Company. I have not seen him for about four years. He was an apprentice in our yard, and after that he became an assistant manager. I remember Daddy telling me how well they all thought of him, and that he’d end up as a director. He must be about thirty-eight years old now. He got married seven or eight years ago, not very long before we closed down. I remember him chiefly because he was so tremendously energetic. Nobody could keep up with him. He was very popular when he was here.
I am coming down to London for a few days on the 17th, and shall be staying with my aunt at 17, Chichester Avenue, Ealing. I could see you then and tell you more about him, if you are interested.
Yours sincerely,
Alice MacMahon.
He reached out for the telephone, and put in a call to the hospi
tal in Sharples. It came in a few minutes; he asked for the Almoner.
He heard her voice. “Miss MacMahon speaking.”
“This is Henry Warren, Miss MacMahon.”
“Oh—where are you speaking from? Are you in Sharples?”
“No—I’m speaking from London. I got your letter; I’m sorry I haven’t answered it before. I’ve been abroad.”
“On business?”
“Yes. I’ve been in Laevatia. Miss MacMahon, about your man Grierson. I’d like to meet him, to have a talk with him. He lives up on the Clyde somewhere, I suppose?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know his address—where I could get hold of him?”
“I can’t tell you off-hand. I could find out and let you have it in to-night’s post.”
“That would do fine. Send it to the office—you know my office address? Lisle Court.”
“That’s the one I’ve got, isn’t it? Where you used to work, and they forward letters for you still?”
“That’s right.”
“They didn’t forward mine. All right, Mr. Warren—I’ll let you have that in to-night’s post. Does this mean that things are getting warm?”
He laughed. “They’re getting so damned hot I’m pretty sure to burn my fingers. You said in your letter you’ll be down in London next week. Will you come and lunch with me?”
“I’d love to, Mr. Warren.”
“What about Tuesday?”
“That would do all right.”
“Good. Tuesday, at one o’clock—at the Savoy? I’ll meet you at the entrance to the grill room.”
“I’ll be there.”
She laid down the receiver; Mr. Williams looked at her inquiringly. “Was yon Mr. Henry Warren?”
She nodded. “Our own out-of-work clerk. I’m going to have lunch with him at the Savoy.”
He said, “Mm. And when you’ve filled him with intoxicating liquor, ye can wheedle out of him the way we can save another half of one per cent upon the overdraft.” He mused a little. “I should have kenned he was a banker, all the time. Nobody else would know them tricks.”