“Ah!” said Mr. Petre, with a knowing smile.
“Williams thought he had got it for nothing. But still it was all he could do to meet it, and he certainly covered it; but he could not meet it alone.”
“No,” said Mr. Petre in judicial tones. “No! Naturally!” and Terrard marveled at the man’s familiarity with the details of a distant land.
“In a sense Williams has got it still, but he can’t hold. It’s cracking—you can hear it cracking.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” laughed Mr. Petre joyously—it was astonishing how quickly these things were coming to him now when once he warmed to them. “I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Now, the question is this. When people are desperate like that, and have to let things go, they’re watched, aren’t they?”
Mr. Petre said nothing. He smiled another knowing smile.
“Well,” continued Terrard, “they’ve watched a little too long. And if some one came in now—I don’t think it would be less than £800,000—it might be a little more ... but if some one comes in now, while Williams’ tongue is hanging out....” Mr. Petre saw that tongue and oddly visualized the unknown Williams in the shape of a large dog panting and athirst—“he gets it!” concluded Terrard triumphantly, striking the table gently but sufficiently with his open palm. “He gets it. And then it’s whatever you like. Doubling it might be too much, but it can’t be less than a fair margin of 60 per cent, when it does go.”
“I see,” said Mr. Petre, getting up and pacing slowly down the little hotel sitting-room and back again. “I see.” For, like the blind man in the story, he didn’t see at all.
“That’s the trouble,” said his guest, leaning back in his chair as though he were relieved by the conclusion of the tale. “It must be one man, and one big man, for they’re all shy of it, are the little ones. And it must be one man because it will have to be handled briskly at both ends.”