Major Vernon started a little at the name and his face seemed to redden.
“Yes,” he said, “I have met her and she is a connection.”
“Will be a big heiress one day, I think,” went on Mr. Jackson, “unless old Haswell makes off with her money. I think Aylward knows that; at any rate he was hanging about when I saw her.”
Vernon started again, this time very perceptibly.
“Very natural—your going into the business, I mean, under all the circumstances,” went on Mr. Jackson. “But now, if you will take my advice, you’ll go out of it as soon as you can.”
“Why?”
“Because, Alan Vernon, I am sure you don’t want to see your name dragged in the dirt, any more than I do.” He fumbled in a drawer and produced a typewritten document. “Take that,” he said, “and study it at your leisure. It’s a sketch of the financial career of Messrs. Aylward and Champers-Haswell, also of the companies which they have promoted and been connected with, and what has happened to them and to those who invested in them. A man got it out for me yesterday and I’m going to use it. As regards this Sahara business, you think it all right, and so it may be from an engineering point of view, but you will never live to sail upon that sea which the British public is going to be asked to find so many millions to make. Look here. We have only three minutes more, so I will come to the point at once. It’s Turkish territory, isn’t it, and putting aside everything else, the security for the whole thing is a Firman from the Sultan?”
“Yes, Sir Robert Aylward and Haswell procured it in Constantinople. I have seen the document.”
“Indeed, and are you well acquainted with the Sultan’s signature? I know when they were there last autumn that potentate was very ill——”
“You mean——” said Major Vernon, looking up.