"Right you are, Mr. Holm. But you're not thinking of going in for the business yourself?"
"You leave that to me."
"Very good, Mr. Holm."
When Bramsen was gone, Holm strode up and down the office deep in thought.
"I wonder, now, if we couldn't manage to nail old Hermansen there. H'm. It's risky, but I must have a try at it all the same."
He put on his hat, and continued his sentry-go up and down, with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Already he saw in his mind's eye the Spaniard hauled up to the repair shops, and plate after plate taken out of her bottom, till only the superstructure remained. And finally, he himself, as representative of the concern, would go up to the bank and present a bill for the repairs—a bill running into three—four—five figures!
He fairly tingled at the thought of that bill. Seven-sixteenth-inch plates, re-riveting, frame-pieces and all the various items Lloyds could hit upon as needful.
It was no easy matter to work out a plan of operations on the spur of the moment. But there was no time to be lost. It was Wednesday already, and the ship was to be put up for auction on the Friday.
First of all, he must go on board himself, openly, as a prospective buyer. This, he knew, would be at once reported to Hermansen, who would have his intelligence department at work.
On Thursday afternoon, then, Holm boarded the Spaniard accordingly, and went over the vessel thoroughly in the hope that Hermansen would get a report that he, Holm, was keenly interested.