What was this? Why did his hand tremble as he took it up? Of course it was only one of Klaus’s ordinary friendly letters.
DEAR FRIEND,—This is a hard letter to write. But I do hope you have taken my advice and got some of your money at any rate over to Norway. Well, to be as brief as possible! Ferdinand Holm has decamped, or is in prison, or possibly worse—you know well enough it’s no good asking questions in a country like this when a big man suddenly disappears. He had made enemies in the highest places; he was playing a dangerous game—and this is the end of it.
You know what it means when a business goes into liquidation out here, and no strong man on the spot to look after things. We Europeans can whistle for our share.
You’ll take it coolly, I know. I’ve lost every penny I had—but you’ve still got your place over there and the workshops. And you’re the sort of fellow to make twice as much next time, or I don’t know you. I hope the Besna barrage is to be a success.
Yours ever,
KLAUS BROCK.
P.S.—Of course you’ll understand that now my friend has been thrown overboard it will very likely be my turn next. But I can’t leave now—to try would rouse suspicion at once. We foreigners have some difficult balancing to do, to escape a fall. Well, if by chance you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know something has happened!
Outside, the water was streaming down the channels into the fall. Peer lay still for a while, only one knee moving up and down beneath the clothes. He thought of his two friends. And he thought that he was now a poor man—and that the greater part of the burden of the security would fall now on old Lorentz D. Uthoug.
Clearly, Fate has other business on hand than making things easy for you, Peer. You must fight your fight out single-handed.