“It’s all Greek to me,” said Mr. Petre, with a wearied bow of the head. “As he likes, what he likes.... Look here—give me the paper again. No—what’s the twenty per cent. premium, what’s it all about? Let him have it! What does it bring this down to?” and he tapped the paper with its penciled millions.
Terrard jotted, amazed. “It doesn’t leave more than two and a quarter,” he answered.
“Two and a quarter what?”
“Millions,” said Terrard in an awed voice.
“Tell him I’ll take two.”
“Mr. Petre, Mr. Petre!” Terrard cried aloud in genuine concern. “Oh, Mr. Petre! it’s impossible.... Do for heaven’s sake....”
“Do as I tell you,” said the elderly marvel in sudden and astonishing rage. “If he’ll do it now, to-night—he can have it.... If he won’t, I’m done with him.”
“Mr. Petre,” began the now terror-stricken Terrard—but Mr. Petre was silent. His effort had exhausted him.
Terrard cursed the absence of a telephone. He must see Charlbury. He didn’t trust himself. He looked at his watch. It wasn’t yet six.
“If you’ll give me an hour,” he said, “I’ll come back.”