“There is no ‘if’ in the case”—said Lutera very coldly—“He has, as he himself says, ‘done his duty.’ You must be pretty well cognisant of what a Jew’s notions of ‘duty’ are! They can be summed up in one sentence;—‘to save his own pocket.’ Jost is driven to fury and desperation by the sudden success of the rival newspaper, which has been so prominently favoured by the King. The shares in his own journalistic concerns are going down rapidly, and he is determined—naturally enough—to take care of himself before anyone else. He has sold out of every company with which you have been, or are associated—and has—so I understand,—sent a complete list of your proposed financial ‘deals,’ investments and other ‘stock’ to—”
He paused.
“Well!” exclaimed Pérousse irascibly—“To whom?”
“To those whom it may concern,”—replied Lutera evasively—“I really can give you no exact information. I have said enough by way of warning!”
Pérousse looked at him heedfully, and what he saw in that dark brooding face was not of a quieting or satisfactory nature.
“You are as deeply involved as I am—” he began.
“Pardon!” and the Marquis drew himself up with some dignity—“I was involved;—I am not now. I have also taken care of myself! I may have been misled, but I shall let no one suffer for my errors. I have sent in my resignation.”
“Fool!” ejaculated Pérousse, forgetting all courtesy in the sudden access of rage that took possession of him at these words;—“Fool, I say! At the very moment when you ought to stick to the ship, you desert it!”
“Are you not ready to run to the helm?” enquired Lutera with a satiric smile; “Surely you can have no doubt but that his Majesty will command you to take office!”
With this, he turned on his heel, and left his colleague to a space of very disagreeable meditation. For the first time in his bold and unscrupulous career, Pérousse found himself in an awkward position. If it were indeed true that Jost and Lutera had thrown up the game, especially Jost, then he, Pérousse, was lost. He had made of Jost, not only a tool, but a confidant. He had used him, and his great leading newspaper for his own political and financial purposes. He had entrusted him with State secrets, in order to speculate thereon in all the money-markets of the world. He had induced him to approach the Premier with crafty promises of support, and to inveigle him by insidious degrees into the same dishonourable financial ‘deal.’ So that if this one man,—this fat, unscrupulous turncoat of a Jew,—chose to speak out, he, Carl Pérousse, Secretary of State, would be the most disgraced and ruined Minister that ever attempted to defraud a nation! His brows grew moist with fever-heat, and his tongue parched, with the dry thirst of fear, as the gravity of the situation was gradually borne in upon him. He began to calculate contingencies and possibilities of escape from the toils that seemed closing around him,—and much to his irritation and embarrassment, he found that most of the ways leading out of difficulty pointed first of all to,—the King.