"Say, we've had to open up the office again!" he exclaimed. "The telegrams are rolling in now. That so-called German naval victory was a fake. The Britishers came out right on top. You know you stand to net at least half a million, Mr. Lutchester? The worst of it is I have another client who's going to lose it."
Pamela shook her head at Lutchester.
"The possibility of increased responsibilities," he whispered. "A married man needs something to fall back upon."
CHAPTER XXXI
The offices of Messrs. Neville, Brooks, and Van Teyl were the scene of something like pandemonium. Van Teyl himself, bathed in perspiration, rushed into his room for the twentieth time. He almost flung the newspaper man who was waiting for him through the door.
"No, we don't know a darned thing," he declared. "We've no special information. The only reason we're up to our neck in Anglo-French is because we've two big clients dealing."
"It's just a few personal notes about those clients we'd like to handle."
"Oh, get out as quick as you can!" Van Teyl snapped. "This isn't a bucket shop or a pool room. The names of our clients concerns ourselves only."
"What do you think Anglo-French are going to do, Mr. Van Teyl?"
"I can't tell," was the prompt answer, "but I can tell what's going to happen if you don't clear out."