The Marquis coughed.
“I think,” he pronounced, “that I have already been too benevolent to the members of my immediate family circle. Besides, it would be quite impossible to ensure from my brother-in-law that measure of secrecy which the circumstances demand.”
Mr. Montague took another glass of wine and appeared to gain courage.
“It’s quite a small affair, this, Pratt,” he warned him.
“As a matter of fact,” Jacob declared, “I am really not looking for investments at all at the moment.”
“No one is ever looking for investments,” his vis-à-vis rejoined. “On the other hand, no man with large means sees a gold mine opening at his feet without wanting to have his whack. If you see our little venture with the same eyes as we do, Mr. Pratt, it is better for you to understand from the first that yours must be a very small whack.”
“Hadn’t you better explain the scheme to Mr. Pratt?” the Marquis suggested.
Mr. Dane Montague nodded. First of all, however, he rose to his feet, promenaded the room, peering into its darker recesses to be sure that no one was lurking there, opened the door, looked down the passage, closed it again, and finally returned to his seat. He then dropped his bomb.
“I am in possession,” he announced solemnly, “of an undertaking from the owner of the Empress Music Hall to sell me the property.”
“For how much?” Jacob asked.