Again Mr. Haswell made the sound of wind among wires, only this time there was a shriller note in it; its mellowness was gone, it was as though the air had suddenly been filled with frost.
“A practical success!” he repeated after him. “That is scarcely our affair, is it? Promoters should not bother themselves with long views, Alan. These may be left to the investing public, the speculative parson and the maiden lady who likes a flutter—those props of modern enterprise. But what do you mean? You originated this idea and always said that the profits should be great.”
“Yes, Mr. Haswell, on a moderate capitalization and provided that we are sure of the co-operation of the Porte.”
Mr. Haswell looked at him very searchingly and Sir Robert, who had been listening, said in his cold voice:
“I think that we thrashed out these points long ago, and to tell you the truth I am rather tired of them, especially as it is too late to change anything. How did you get on with Jackson, Vernon?”
“I did not get on at all, Sir Robert. He will not touch the thing on any terms, and indeed means to oppose it tooth and nail.”
“Then he will find himself in a minority when the articles come out to-morrow. Of course it is a bore, but we are strong enough to snap our fingers at him. You see they don’t read The Judge in France, and no one has ever heard of it in Constantinople. Therefore we have nothing to fear—so long as we stick together,” he added meaningly.
Alan felt that the crisis had come. He must speak now or for ever hold his peace; indeed Aylward was already looking round for his hat.
“Sir Robert and Mr. Haswell,” he broke in rather nervously, “I have something to say to you, something unpleasant,” and he paused.
“Then please say it at once, Vernon. I want to dress for dinner, I am going to the theatre to-night and must dine early,” replied Aylward in a voice of the utmost unconcern.