“And you, Harcutt?”
Harcutt nodded gravely.
“I am with Densham,” he said. “At the same time I may as well tell you that I am quite as much, if not more, interested in the man than in the girl. The girl is beautiful, and of course I admire her, as every one must. But that is all. The man appeals to my journalistic instincts. There is copy in him. I am convinced that he is a personage. You may, in fact, regard me, both of you, as an ally rather than as a rival.”
“If you had your choice, then, of an hour’s conversation with either of them——” Wolfenden began.
“I should choose the man without a second’s hesitation,” Harcutt declared. “The girl is lovely enough, I admit. I do not wonder at you fellows—Densham, who is a worshipper of beauty; you, Wolfenden, who are an idler—being struck with her! But as regards myself it is different. The man appeals to my professional instincts in very much the same way as the girl appeals to the artistic sense in Densham. He is a conundrum which I have set myself to solve.”
Wolfenden rose to his feet.
“Look here, you fellows,” he said, “I have a proposition to make. We are all three in the same boat. Shall we pull together or separately?”
Harcutt dropped his eyeglass and smiled quietly.
“Quixotic as usual, Wolf, old chap,” he said. “We can’t, our interests are opposed; at least yours and Densham’s are. You will scarcely want to help one another under the circumstances.”
Wolfenden drew on his gloves.