“I see,” commented the visitor, and put the second check in his pocket.
That had required considerable outlay, but when Allison was alone, he went over to his globe and made another long red mark.
A neat waisted man, with a goatee of carefully selected hairs and a luxuriant black moustache, called on Allison, and laid down his hat and his stick and his gloves, in a neat little pile, with separate jerks. He jerked out a cigarette, he jerked out a match, and jerkily lit the former with the latter.
“I am here,” he said.
“I am able to give you some important diplomatic news,” Allison advised him. “Your country is about to have a war with your ancient enemy to the east. It will be declared within a month.”
“It will be finished in a week,” prophesied the neat waisted caller, his active eyes lighting with pleasure.
“Possibly,” admitted Allison. “I understand that your country is not in the best of financial conditions to undertake a war, particularly with that ancient enemy.”
“The banking system of my country is patriotic,” returned the caller. “Its only important banks are controlled under one system. I am the head of that system. I am a patriot!” and he tapped himself upon the breast with deep and sincere feeling.
“How much revenue does your position yield you personally?”
A shade of sadness crossed the brow of the neat waisted caller.