Selingman glanced at the round table and beamed.
"It is true," he admitted. "Every country seems to have sent its statesmen holiday-making. And what a playground, too!" he added, glancing towards Hunterleys with something which was almost a wink. "Here, political crises seem of little account by the side of the turning wheel. This is where the world unbends and it is well that there should be such a place. Shall we see you at the Club or in the rooms later?"
"Without a doubt," Mr. Simpson assented. "For what else does one live in Monte Carlo?"
"How did you leave things in town?" Mr. Draconmeyer enquired.
"So-so!" the Minister answered. "A little flat, but then it is a dull season of the year."
"Markets about the same, I suppose?" Mr. Draconmeyer asked.
"I am afraid," Mr. Simpson confessed, "that I only study the city column from the point of view of what Herr Selingman has just called the political barometer. Things were a little unsteady when I left. Consols fell several points yesterday."
Mr. Draconmeyer frowned.
"It is incomprehensible," he declared. "A few months ago there was real danger, one is forced to believe, of a European war. To-day the crisis is passed, yet the money-markets which bore up so well through the critical period seem now all the time on the point of collapse. It is hard for a banker to know how to operate these days. I wish you gentlemen in Downing Street, Mr. Simpson, would make it easier for us."
Mr. Simpson shrugged his shoulders.