“I wish I could earn it,” said Gorman, “but unfortunately I know nothing at all about the matter.”
Political life, so Gorman has often told me, is the very best education obtainable in one respect. The politician learns to lie fluently and without discomfort. Even politicians are not, of course, always believed, but they know how to lie in a way which makes it very difficult for any one to give expression to unbelief. Goldsturmer may actually have believed Gorman. He certainly pretended to. He did not even offer a two per cent. bonus.
“I must ask you to pardon me,” he said, “for occupying your time with my inquiries. I thank you for the way in which you have received me. Good-bye.”
He bowed his way to the door. Then he turned to Gorman again.
“You will understand, I am sure, that mine was a purely business inquiry. I am not interested in any of the scandal which unfortunately is connected with the name of his Majesty, or with that of the charming lady of whom I spoke. Still less am I concerned with the state affairs of Megalia. I have no connection with Megalia.”
Gorman sat thinking for a while after Goldsturmer left him. The jeweller’s visit and his questions were natural enough. Such inquiries are made every day. There was nothing surprising in the offer of one per cent. on the money which was to change hands in return for information. Gorman was a politician. It was not the first time he had been offered a commission. He hoped it would not be the last. What puzzled him was Goldsturmer’s final remark. Why should the man have said he had no interest in the state affairs of Megalia unless indeed he was interested, was on the track of a suspected secret?
Once more Gorman lamented the fact that women were mixed up in a business affair.
“Damn Madame Ypsilante,” he said.
Then, finding some relief for his feelings in expressing them aloud:
“Damn that woman’s tongue.”