Jacob muttered something noncommittal. Mr. Dane Montague leaned across the table. He had been listening to every word of the conversation between the two.
“You are a person of imagination, Mr. Pratt,” he said. “I gathered that from our brief business connection.”
“Did you?” Jacob replied. “I had rather an idea—”
“Don’t say a word,” the other interrupted. “We had a little tussle, I admit. Brain against brain, and you won. I have never borne you any malice—in fact I should be proud to be associated in another business venture with you.”
The Marquis cleared his throat.
“I asked Mr. Pratt to meet you this evening, Mr. Montague,” he said, “not knowing that you were previously acquainted, but thinking that you might like to put your latest scheme before him.”
“I shall be proud to do so,” was the prompt declaration. “My latest scheme, Mr. Pratt, is simple enough. I propose to appeal to the credulity of the British middle classes. I propose to form a sort of home university for the study of foreign languages and dispense instruction by means of pamphlets.”
“I don’t mean that one,” the Marquis interposed. “I mean the little scheme, the—er—one where a certain amount of remuneration in the shape of commission was to be forthcoming for the introduction of further capital. You follow me, I am sure?”
Mr. Montague’s face was furrowed with thought. He sipped his wine and looked across at Jacob furtively. A certain uneasiness was mingled with his natural optimism.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that Mr. Pratt is too big a man for us. What about your brother-in-law, Lord William Thorndyke?”