It was nine by the time Terrard was in the Temple doorway again and ringing at Mr. Petre’s door. Quiet outside, and only a little radiance shining up from a bulb in the well of the stone staircase below. There was no reply. He rang again, and still no reply. He began to be afraid. He knew Mr. Petre’s mania for isolation. He would be alone. Terrard had been away three hours—more. He had said one hour. He rang again; still no reply. He knocked loudly and repeatedly, in dread; then came a step, slow but not uncertain, and Mr. Petre, refreshed, himself stood in the doorway.
“I was asleep,” he said. “Lord, what a blessing! I thought I’d never sleep again.... I’m....” Then he remembered the cause of the young man’s visit. “Come in,” he said. “Have you done it? Have you seen them?”
“I’ve got it here,” said Terrard, and he handed it over. Mr., Petre read the brief document and breathed a deep breath of content. He heard Terrard repeat the original, the obvious words, that it would take a few days.
“That’s all right,” said Mr. Petre, in a new, sane voice. “I shall sleep now—only, as soon as it can be done, get it done.”
Then Terrard for the first time found that he was ravenous. He hastened to be gone; but before he tasted a crumb he had rung up “Marengo.” “It’s through,” he said, and all the answer he got was, “Ah! See you to-morrow morning.”
At the opening of the morrow’s market Blake and Blake began their careful selling; it had to be delicately handled; and the next day, either some one knew or guessed things about the B.A.R.S. and 119 was marked down, 118, 117, 118 again—116 at the close. But the operation was piloted through, and what was skimmed off was nothing to that lump coming in from Trefusis. They thought themselves well out of it. Before a week was out Bars were steady at 112. Then a very slow rise began—and it hasn’t stopped to this day.[A]
[A] Nominally 135—but you’re lucky to get them.