“Shall we say we’re in it?” asked Terrard.
“Better not. No good telling lies. Besides which, commission’s enough. And we can’t wait years, and ye can never be quite sure. If any one’s got to bear the racket, let ’im. ’E’ll be quit of us long before then; though, honest, mind you, I don’t believe there’ll be a racket to bear, any’ow.”
“Very well,” said Terrard simply. He looked at his watch. It was only a quarter past ten. “I’ll ring up now,” he said.
“Is that sife?” said Charlbury, showing anxiety for the first time that evening.
“Quite, I think,” said Terrard, who was on his own ground. “If he’s not out anywhere alone—for he’s keeping to himself, I’m told. He would think it ordinary to be rung up at this hour,” and he picked up the telephone and called up 8309 Embankment.
There was nothing heard but the slight sound of the good fire in the room, and in that silence both men had but one thought, or rather had before their mental eyes but one picture. Each of them saw a figure. It was the figure of a commission. And it was a sound one.
At last came the tiny squeaking of the instrument upon Mr. Charlbury’s ears, and he looked round and watched Terrard. That young gentleman was saying in an easy, happy voice:
“Oh, Mr. Petre, I’m sorry to ring you up at such an hour, but I want you to have the news as soon as I could possibly get it to you. I am sure you won’t mind when you hear.”... “No, not at all.”... “Thank you very much. It would be easier to put it by word of mouth. It’s a thing called the Paddenham Site. I have just heard of the chance. I could tell you all the details if you like. Can I see you to-morrow?...” “Yes, certainly. That will do perfectly. Can you lunch?”... “Very well, then, just before one, and I can tell you all about it before we go down. It won’t take long. Then after lunch I could show it to you. Not that that means much, but later we might go round to their lawyers and see the papers.”... “Thanks. All right. 12.45. Go-o-o-o-o-d night.” Charlie Terrard said the last words in the exact inflection given to them by the more refined of the wealthy women, and hung up the receiver. And Charlbury thought in his heart how useful a thing it was to have a partner with such an air of the great world—and yet how bitter.
There was one thing more to be done: to write a note to Broad Street telling them that they might expect a client introduced to them by Blake and Blake. It wasn’t sure: but they might.
Terrard would ring them up, if it matured, at short notice, and he would let them know when to expect him.