The remaining gentlemen, of whom there were now eleven, grinned appreciatively. Hickey would have been the best newspaper man in New York if he were not such a careless slob. He was so good that he was the only man from the Planet. The others had sent two, and three; for Gerald’s message, while very simple, had been most effective. He had merely announced that he was prepared to provide them with an international sensation, involving some hundreds of billions of dollars—and he had given his right name!
The unfortunate Hickey made a violent pretence of search through all his pockets.
“I must have lost it,” he piteously declared. “Won’t you take my written word that you won’t be mentioned?” and he looked up at the splendidly erect Gerald with that honest appeal in his eyes which had deceived so many.
“Sorry,” announced Gerald; “but it wouldn’t be sportsmanlike, since it would be quite unfair to these other gentlemen.”
“Hold the stuff ’til I telephone,” begged Hickey. “Say, if I get that written guarantee up here in fifteen minutes, will it do?”
Gerald looked him speculatively in the eye.
“If you telephone, and can then assure me, on your word of honour, that the document I require shall be in the house before you leave, I shall permit you to remain,” he decreed; and Hickey looked him quite soberly in the eye for half a minute.
“I’ll have it here all right,” he decided, and sprang for the telephone, and came back in three minutes with his word of honour. They could hear him, from the library, yelling, from the time he gave the number until he hung up the receiver, and if there was ever urgency in a man’s voice, it was in the voice of Hickey.
Gerald Fosland took a commanding position in the corner of the room, where he could see the countenances of each of the eager young gentlemen present. He stood behind a chair, with his hands on the back of it, in his favourite position for responding to a toast.
“Gentlemen; Edward E. Allison (Twelve young gentlemen who had been leaning forward with strained interest, and their mouths half open to help them hear, suddenly jerked bolt upright. The little squib over under the statue of Diana, dropped his lead pencil, and came up with a purple face. Hickey, with a notebook two inches wide in one hand, jabbed down a scratch to represent Allison) is about to complete a transportation system encircling the globe. (The little squib on the end choked on his tongue. Hickey made a ring on his note pad, to represent the globe, and while he waited for the sensation to subside, put a buckle on it.) The acquisition of the foreign railroads will be made possible only by a war, which is already arranged. (The little squib got writer’s cramp. Hickey waited for details. The hollow-cheeked reporter grabbed for a cigarette, but with no intention of lighting it.) The war, which will be between Germany and France, will begin within a month. France, unable to raise a war fund otherwise, will sell her railroads. The Russian line is already being taken from its present managers, and will be turned over to Allison’s world syndicate within a week. The important steamship lines will become involved in financial difficulties, which have already been set afoot in England. Following these events will come a successful rebellion in India, and the independence of all the British colonies. (The little squib laid down his pencil, and sat in open-mouthed despair. He was three sentences behind, and knew that he would be compelled to trust his memory and his imagination, and neither were equal to this task. Hickey had seven serene jabs on his notebook, and was peacefully framing his introductory paragraph. A seraphic smile was on his thick lips, and his softened eyes were gazing fondly into the fields of rich fancy. The hollow-cheeked young man had cocked his cigarette perpendicularly, and he was writing a few words with artistic precision. The red-headed reporter was tearing off page after page of his notebook and stuffing them loosely in his pocket. One of the boys, a thick-breasted one with large hands, was making microscopic notes on the back of an envelope, and had plenty of room to spare.) You will probably require some tangible evidence that these large plans are on the way to fulfilment. I call your attention to the fact that, last week, the Russian Duomo began a violent agitation over the removal of Olaf Petrovy, who was the controller of the entire Russian railroad system. Day before yesterday, Petrovy was unfortunately assassinated, and the agitation in the Duomo subsided. (Hickey only nodded. His eyes glowed with the light of a poet. The little squib sighed dejectedly.) This morning I read that France is greatly incensed over a diplomatic breach in the German war office; and it is commented that the breach is one which can not possibly be healed. Kindly take note of the following facts. From the first to the eighth of this month, Baron von Slachten, who is directly responsible for Germany’s foreign relations, was seen in this city at the Fencing Club, under the incognito of Henry Brokaw. Chevalier Duchambeau, director of the combined banking interests of France, was here in that same week, and was seen at the Montparnasse Cercle. He bore the name of Andree Tirez. The Grand Duke Jan, of Russia, was here as Ivan Strolesky. James Wellington Hodge, the master of the banking system of practically all the world, outside the United States, was here as E. E. Chalmers. Prince Nito of Japan, Yu-Hip-Lun of China and Count Cassioni of Rome, were here at the same time; and they all called on Edward E. Allison. (Furious writing on the part of all the young gentlemen except the little squib and Hickey; the former in an acute paralysis of body and mind and soul, and Hickey in an acute ecstasy. He had symbols down for all the foreign gentlemen named, a pretzel for the Baron, and had the local records of Ivan Strolesky and Baron von Slachten up a tree. He had seen them both, and interviewed the former.) Furthermore, gentlemen, I will give you now the names of the eight financiers, who, with Edward E. Allison, are interested in the formation of the International Transportation Company, which proposes to control the commerce of the world. These gentlemen are Joseph G. Clark (the little squib jumped up and sat down. Hickey produced a long, low whistle of unbounded joy. The hollow-faced one jerked the useless cigarette from his mouth and threw it in the fireplace. The red-headed reporter laughed hysterically, though he never stopped writing. Every young gentleman there made one or another sharp physical movement expressive of his astonishment and delight), Eldridge Babbitt (more sensation), W. T. Chisholm (Hickey wrote the rest of the list), Richard Haverman, Arthur Grandin, Robert E. Taylor, A. L. Vance. I would suggest that, if you disturb these gentlemen in the manner which I have understood you to be quite capable of doing, you might secure from some one of them a trace of corroboration of the things I have said. This is all.” He paused, and bowed stiffly. “Gentlemen, I wish to add one word. I thank you for your kind attention, and I desire to say that, while I have violated to-night several of the rules which I had believed that I would always hold unbroken, I have done so in the interest of a justice which is greater than all other considerations. Gentlemen, good-night.”