"My dear fellow," he said, "I should be charmed to hear it, but as a matter of fact I have not very much time this afternoon. Perhaps if you left the scenario with me——"
"It's not written out," said Frank.
Craddock glanced at the clock.
"Ah, I see I have half an hour," he said.
"That ought to be sufficient. If not, perhaps you can postpone your next engagement. However, you will see, if you think it worth while. I propose to call my play 'The Middleman.'"
Craddock's hand, that was still up to his face, paused a moment. Then it began stroking again.
"Quite a good title," he said, with an absolutely impassive tone.
"I thought you would approve. Of course he is the hero—shall we say?—of the play. He's large and stout, I want you to picture him to yourself—and wealthy and cultivated, a great judge of pictures and the arts generally. He purchases options on the work of young and unknown men, that's how he gets his money, and makes devilish good bargains."
Craddock raised his eyebrows slightly, and turned to Charles.
"And what is your part in this conspiracy?" he said quietly. "It is a conspiracy, I suppose."