Peer glanced at him and took the note. “I’m delighted for poor old Martin’s sake,” he said, putting the note in his waistcoat pocket. “That’ll make fifteen hundred for him.”
Klaus Brock looked from one to the other and smiled a little. The talk turned on other things for a while, and then he asked:
“By the way, Peer, have you seen that advertisement of the British Carbide Company’s?”
“No, what about?”
“They want tenders for the damming and harnessing of the Besna River, with its lake system and falls. That should be something in your line.”
“No,” said Ferdinand sharply. “I told you before—that job’s too small for him. Peer’s going to the Euphrates.”
“What would it amount to, roughly?” said Peer, addressing no one in particular.
“As far as I could make out, it should be a matter of a couple of million crowns or thereabout,” said Klaus.
“That’s not a thing for Peer,” said Ferdinand, rising and lifting his hand to hide a yawn. “Leave trifles like that to the trifling souls. Good-night, gentlemen.”
A couple of hours later, when all was silent throughout the house, Peer was still up, wandering to and fro in soft felt slippers in the great hall. Now and again he would stop, and look out of the window. Why could he not sleep? The moon was paling, the day beginning to dawn.