“Does she—exist?” Holderness asked.
“Not for me,” Macheson declared hurriedly. “Don’t think that. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but for our compact.”
Holderness nodded.
“Bad luck,” he said. “This craving for something we haven’t got—can’t have—I wish I could find the germ. The world should go free of it for a generation. We’d build empires, we’d reconstruct society. It’s a deadly germ, though, Victor, and it’s the princes of the world who suffer most. There’s only one antidote—work!”
“Give me some,” Macheson begged.
The giant looked at him thoughtfully.
“Right,” he answered, “but not to-day. Clothes up in town?”
Macheson nodded.
“We’ll go on the bust,” Holderness declared. “I’ve been dying for a spree! We’ll have it. Where are you staying?”
“My old rooms,” Macheson answered. “I looked in on my way from the station and found them empty.”