Читать книгу The Strangers' Gate - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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A dark, olive-complexioned young man, good-looking but with a somewhat fatigued expression, turned from the window of the sitting room where he had been gazing over the Place Vendôme to greet the visitor whom his servant was announcing. He wore tweeds which were obviously of English extraction. He was exceedingly well turned out and he possessed an air of distinction. His attitude was friendly but guarded.

“It is Mr. Nigel Beverley, I am sure,” he said, holding out his hand.

Beverley drew himself up and bowed before he advanced and accepted the salutation.

“It is very kind of Your Majesty to remember me.”

“Not at all, not at all,” was the genial reply. “Sit down, please. My secretary has, I trust, informed you of the condition I made when consenting to receive you.”

“Certainly, sir,” Beverley acquiesced. “I shall obey your wishes strictly. So far as I am concerned your incognito shall be rigidly preserved.”

“I am entered in the hotel books here as ‘Mr. Nicolas,’ ” he said. “An occasional ‘sir’ I do not mind, but here in Paris Mr. Nicolas is my name.”

“You may rely upon my discretion,” Beverley assured him.

The young man passed his cigarette case.

“I have the ill fortune,” he confided, “to rule over a thankless people. They do not understand that even a king needs relaxation. Orlac is a beautiful country, but to live in all the time—impossible. We have had very pleasant business connections, Mr. Beverley. What more can I do for you?”

“I have come to ask you for another concession,” Beverley announced.

Nicolas smiled wistfully.

“But my dear friend,” he said, “I have nothing else in Orlac except the palace itself worth tuppence. You hold already the concession for the bauxite mine.”

“Quite true, sir,” Beverley admitted, “but our concession was framed in the belief that the bauxite was to be found only in the particular district where the present mine is situated. Whether it be a true or false report I do not know yet, but I have had information that bauxite has been found in another part of your kingdom.”

There was no doubt about the young man’s interest. He waved his visitor, who was still standing, to a chair.

“Sit down, if you please, Mr. Beverley,” he invited. “This is most interesting. Would you be so good, I wonder, as to ring the bell?”

Beverley did as he was requested.

“How did you obtain this information?” Nicolas continued. “Where is this bauxite? Is it on Crown Lands?”

“The information which has been handed to me,” Beverley told him, “comes from the sister of a young man who I understand is in prison. His name is Mauranesco.”

Nicolas shook his head.

“A bad lot, those Mauranescos.”

“I know nothing of the family,” Beverley went on. “The sister of the young man has brought me a small fragment of rock which contains distinct traces of bauxite. Her brother refuses to set down on paper where it was found and his sister, I am convinced, does not know.”

“And the young man is in prison?”

“So his sister tells me.”

“Where is he confined?”

“In the city gaol at Klast.”

“And the charge against him?”

“Stealing money from some tourists with whom he was travelling.”

“What is his sentence?”

“It has another month to run.”

Nicolas was thoughtful.

“Does anyone else know of this business?” he enquired.

“A German named Treyer,” Beverley replied. “He endeavoured to obtain the concession you graciously granted to my firm.”

“A most unpleasant person,” Nicolas declared. “Stop! An idea comes to me.”

The bell was at that moment answered.

“Send in my secretary at once,” Nicolas ordered. “You will find him in the ante-room. Also send here a bottle of Pommery ’28, a bottle of Scotch whisky and some soda water. Also ice.”

The man bowed respectfully and departed. His place was taken almost immediately by a young man of mournful appearance dressed with great precision in sombre attire and wearing dark spectacles.

“My secretary, Baron Genetter, Mr. Beverley. You probably remember him.”

The two men exchanged formal bows. Nicolas continued.

“Genetter,” he said, “you had a letter the other day from a German who asked for an interview. It was forwarded from Orlac. You replied?”

“I replied at your suggestion, sir, enquiring into the nature of his business.”

“Was there any further communication from him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may speak before Mr. Beverley,” Nicolas said shortly. “What did the fellow want?”

“He wrote at great length, sir,” the secretary replied. “He declared that he had spent many months, on behalf of his Government, searching for bauxite in Orlac and the surrounding countries. He believes that he has been successful in finding traces of it in an utterly unsuspected portion of our country. Before he proceeds further he wishes for an open concession.”

“This is very interesting,” Nicolas murmured. “You heard that, Mr. Beverley? Very interesting.”

“Without a doubt,” Beverley agreed. “The only thing is, sir, I hope you won’t deal with this fellow Treyer. He is not a nice person at all.”

Nicolas coughed.

“That is possible,” he admitted, “but frankly I agree with the old commercial saying: ‘Business is business.’ You do also, I am sure.”

“Perfectly,” Beverley replied, “with the right people. With the wrong people it may lead to disaster. Whilst your secretary is here, sir, may I in one or two words explain the suggestion I have come to make?”

“By all means,” Nicolas acquiesced graciously. “That commits me to nothing.”

“If the concession which you granted to my company, sir, had been drawn up in a grasping spirit, its conditions would have embraced bauxite in the Kingdom of Orlac wherever found, and this discovery would simply have made our own deal with you the more profitable. We asked for the concession, however, only upon the Klast Mine, and the immediately surrounding country near the capital. I think, therefore, that I am not unreasonable when I ask now for an extended concession to include any bauxite found in any other part of the country.”

Nicolas’ eyebrows were faintly raised.

“That wants thinking over,” he remarked. “What do you say, Genetter?”

“I should ask Mr. Beverley what his company is prepared to pay for the extended concession,” was the discreet reply.

“Excellent,” Nicolas approved with a happy smile. “Well thought of, Genetter. An extended concession—er—cannot be granted without consideration.”

The waiter entered with wine in a cooler, a bottle of whisky, soda water and a further silver pail full of ice.

“I should like,” Nicolas proposed, “to offer you some refreshment, Mr. Beverley.”

“You are very kind, sir. I will take a whisky-and-soda, if I may.”

Nicolas himself took a tumblerful of champagne. Beverley mixed his own drink. The waiter left the room. Nicolas leaned back in the easy chair, crossed his legs and lit a fresh cigarette. For a moment his expression was slightly spoilt by an avaricious gleam in those uncannily large eyes.

“I should like to put the matter to you in this way, sir,” Beverley went on. “When you granted my company the present concession we only asked that it should apply to the small area of land round the then extinct Klast Mine.”

“Just so,” Nicolas agreed, “and that is all we granted.”

“Very greatly to your financial benefit,” Beverley remarked, “if it should turn out that Mauranesco’s claim is a true one. I am here now to suggest that you give my company a further concession upon bauxite or any similar mineral discovered in any part of the country upon Crown Lands.”

“This requires consideration,” Nicolas declared.

“The Mauranesco find may not be on Crown Lands at all,” Beverley reminded him. “In that case, sir, we should ask you to use your influence with the owners of the land and the Government to grant the concession to us. There’s no other way in which it could be made profitable, as there is no machinery in the kingdom except ours, and no skilled labour.”

Nicolas smoked his cigarette thoughtfully for a moment or two.

“How does that strike you, Genetter?” he asked the silent figure in the background.

“It would be interesting to know the first advance sum Mr. Beverley proposes to pay for the preliminary agreement if the Mauranesco discovery should prove to be genuine.”

Beverley nodded.

“I will make you an offer at once,” he agreed: “Provided you, sir, give a letter promising to use your influence with Parliament to grant us the concession on the same terms as the existing one, we should be willing to advance at once the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds.”

“And supposing,” Nicolas reflected, “that the Mauranesco reported find should turn out to be a mistake, or that my Government, say, refused to accept my advice as to how it should be disposed of?”

“In that case it would be open to Your Majesty to return us the twenty-five thousand pounds; or failing that we should lose the money.”

“A speculation.”

“Precisely—a speculation.”

“I do not think,” Nicolas said blandly, “that you would get the twenty-five thousand pounds back.”

“It would be the fortune of war,” Beverley acknowledged.

The door was suddenly thrown open. A young woman of exceedingly seductive appearance entered. She wore a beautifully tailored suit which had the unmistakable Parisian cachet; her hat, her coiffure, her fur and the small etceteras of her toilet were faultless. She made her way over to Nicolas, who had risen at once at her entrance.

“My dear Katarina!” he exclaimed with a slight note of remonstrance in his tone.

She stretched out her hands.

“I regret,” she apologised. “When I found the Baron was not in his room I thought that you and he would be alone. I have been walking in the Bois and it was very tiresome. Do I disturb anything of importance?”

“It is business which we discuss,” Nicolas admitted, “and it is business of an exceedingly interesting nature. Mr. Beverley, I have the pleasure to present you to Madame Katarina.”

She nodded pleasantly. There was a flash of welcome in her dark eyes. She was flamboyant but magnificent. Beverley bowed and placed a chair for her. She seated herself, however, on the arm of Nicolas’s fauteuil.

“In a way your arrival is opportune,” the latter went on. “Tell me, Katarina, do you think we could find a use for twenty-five thousand pounds?”

She threw out her hands in ecstasy.

“Who is it that makes this glorious suggestion?” she exclaimed, speaking in French with a somewhat curious accent.

“It is I, Madame,” Beverley replied. “I have made a proposition to His—to Mr. Nicolas.”

“Twenty-five thousand!” she repeated. “Why, mon petit,” she went on, caressing his arm, “it is the one thing we need to make us perfectly happy—a little more money. Twenty-five thousand pounds! Four million francs! It would mean another fortnight here in happiness. Who is this good angel, my beloved?”

“This gentleman owns the company who bought the concession of the Klast Mine,” Nicolas told her.

“A rich Englishman!” she exclaimed with a glance at him which was almost a caress. “How I love them all! Monsieur Beverley, I agree.... What I say, he does,” she went on, patting her lover’s arm. “What do we do to secure these twenty-five thousand pounds?”

“Very little,” Nicolas admitted. “But we might have to give them back again if it turned out that a certain rumour was false.”

“Oh, la la!” she cried scornfully. “Monsieur Beverley would take the risk about our paying it back. Money is so easily spent in Paris. One buys this and one buys that. The money is gone directly. How can one give it back? Monsieur Beverley is too generous, I am sure,” she added with another wonderful flash of her eyes as she looked towards him, “to expect such a thing.”

“Madame,” Beverley rejoined with a little bow, “I look upon it as extraordinarily improbable that I should ever be put in the painful position of having to ask you for the return of this money we speak of.”

She turned to Nicolas.

“I think I like your Englishman,” she confided. “He is not so serious as most of them. He has what they call a twinkle in the eye. Monsieur Beverley, will you give me a glass of champagne?”

Beverley, with a glance towards Nicolas, who gave solemn assent, filled a glass and presented it to the lady. Her eyes, beautiful notwithstanding the obvious art of the specialist, again flashed wonderful things into his.

“You drink, too,” she insisted. “We make a toast. We three,” she added, as though suddenly remembering Nicolas.

Beverley raised his tumbler courteously and backed a few steps away.

“To the money which will arrive,” Katarina declared, lifting her glass. “To the happiness it will bring. To that emerald pendant which reposes still in the establishment of Cartier. That is a good toast, Monsieur, is it not?”

Beverley drank discreetly. Nicolas whispered something to Katarina. She pulled his ear and laughed softly.

“Might I suggest, sir,” Beverley ventured, “that you talk over my proposition with the Baron Genetter, your secretary here, and with Madame, and that afterwards you and she will give me the pleasure of dining with me this evening in my apartments or anywhere you choose. You can give me your answer then. I will have a notary in attendance and the business can be finished—”

“But the money!” Katarina interrupted breathlessly.

“I will pay over the money upon the signature of the document drawn up on the lines I have suggested,” Beverley promised.

“It is an amazing idea!” she exclaimed. “We accept, do we not, my little one? It is a dinner which I shall eat with an appetite.”

Nicolas was not quite so quick in making up his mind. There was something of interrogation in that swift glance which flashed between Genetter and himself. The pressure of Katarina’s fingers upon his arm was, however, almost compelling.

“Thank you, Mr. Beverley,” he said. “We will accept your invitation, and at present I see no reason why we should not bring the affair to the conclusion you suggest. Under existing conditions,” he added with a slight cough, “we do not appear in the restaurant. We dine only privately. Your apartment, therefore, in the hotel would be desirable.”

Katarina indulged in a gesture of disappointment.

“Where is the pleasure of my new gowns and that divine ermine cape if we are to dine privately all the time?” she demanded.

Nicolas had recovered something of his dignity.

“We are the victims of what amounts almost to a prosecution from the Press just now,” he explained to Beverley. “I have a great objection to figuring continually in the chief picture papers, which I regret that your Western culture tolerates. It will suit us better to dine alone with you. Shall we say at nine o’clock?”

“That will be admirable,” Beverley acquiesced. “My suite is on the third floor—Number Seventy-one. I shall expect you, sir, and Madame,” he added with a little bow, “at that hour.”

Bowing again in farewell, he passed through the door which the secretary was holding open. Katarina’s eyes followed him to the last moment, then she threw herself into the arms of her companion.

“But it is marvellous, this,” she cried. “What a wind of good chance to have blown this solemn Englishman across the Channel with his pockets bursting with money! Twenty-five thousand pounds! Do you realise what this means to us, my beloved?”

“Realise it? Of course I do,” Nicolas, who was regretting very much that Katarina had not extended her walk for another mile or so, replied. “But you must remember, little one, we have debts.”

“Pooh!” she scoffed. “The Englishman must pay them.”

“What do you think of it, Genetter?” Nicolas asked, turning to the melancholy figure standing looking out of the window.

“The man Beverley,” Genetter replied, “knows more than he tells us. Still, I do not believe that there is any more bauxite in the kingdom.”

“In that case,” Nicolas reflected, “the sooner I sign this new agreement and touch the money the better!”