The newspaper man took a hurried leave. Van Teyl seized the telephone receiver, only to put it down with a little shout of relief as the door opened and Lutchester entered.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed. "Why, I've been ringing you up for an hour and a half."
"Sorry," Lutchester replied, "I was down at the barber's the first time you got through, and then I had some cables to send off."
"Look here," Van Teyl continued, gripping him by the shoulder, "is six hundred and forty thousand dollars, or thereabouts, profit enough for you on your Anglo-French?"
"It sounds adequate," Lutchester confessed, laying his hat and cane carefully upon the table and drawing up an easy-chair. "How much is Mr. Fischer going to lose?"
"God knows! If you allow me to sell at the present moment, you'll ease the market, and he'll lose about what you make."
"And if I decide to hold my Anglo-French?"
"You'll have to provide us with about a couple of million dollars," Van Teyl replied, "and I should think you would pretty well break Fischer for a time. Frankly, he's an important client, and we don't want him broken, even temporarily."
"What do you want me to do, then?"
"Give us authority to sell," Van Teyl begged. "Can't you hear them yapping about in the office outside? They're round me all the time like a pack of hounds. Honestly, if I don't sell some Anglo-French before lunch-time to-day, they look like wrecking the office."