Dr. Merville was not immediately prepared to define the position of his visitor. "In a sense he is an employee of Moropulos—picked him up in his travels. He is an anarchist."
She stared. "A what?"
"Well, not exactly an anarchist—communist—anyway, he has quaint views on—things. Believes in the equality of the human race. An extraordinary fellow, a dreamer, got a crazy idea of raising a million to found a college, that's what he calls it, The Mother College—can't stop now, darling, but please don't make a fuss of him. He is just a little difficult as it is. I will tell you about him some day." He bustled out of the room and the study door closed with a thud.
Beryl Merville considered Ambrose Sault for a very long time before she turned to her writing-table, where the unfinished letter to Ronald Morelle invited a conclusion.
II
"Well, Sault, why have you come? Anything wrong?" Beryl would have thought Dr. Merville's manner strangely mild and conciliatory after his show of antagonism toward the visitor.
Sault had seated himself on the edge of a low chesterfield under the curtained window. "Moropulos is worried about some people who called at his bureau today. They came to ask him about a letter that had been sent to him from South Africa by the assistant manager of the Brakfontein Diamond Mine."
Merville was standing by the library table, in the center of the room. The hand that played with the leaves of a magazine was trembling ever so slightly. "What has happened—how did they know—who were they?" he demanded shakily.
"I think it was the managing director, the American gentleman. He was very angry. They discovered that the manager had been receiving money from London soon after he made his report. Moropulos told me that the shares had dropped thirty points since yesterday morning. Mr. Divverly said that Moropulos and his gang, those were the words I think, had bribed the manager to keep back the report that the mine was played out. I suppose he did. I know very little about stocks and shares."