A hand was laid on his arm by some one who had come up a moment before and who had listened to Don Luis’ little speech. Its owner had alighted from a car which was waiting some way off; and, to Patrice’s great astonishment, his presence had aroused no opposition on the part of either M. Masseron or Don Luis Perenna. He was a man well-advanced in years, with a powerful, lined face.
“My dear Masseron,” he said, “it seems to me that you are not looking at the question from the right point of view.”
“That’s what I think, monsieur le président,” said Don Luis.
“Ah, do you know me, sir?”
“M. Valenglay, I believe? I had the honor of calling on you some years ago, sir, when you were president of the council.”
“Yes, I thought I remembered . . . though I can’t say exactly . . .”
“Please don’t tax your memory, sir. The past does not concern us. What matters is that you should be of my opinion.”
“I don’t know that I am of your opinion. But I consider that this makes no difference. And that is what I was telling you, my dear Masseron. It’s not a question of knowing whether you ought to discuss this gentleman’s conditions. It’s a question of accepting them or refusing them without discussion. There’s no bargain to be driven in the circumstances. A bargain presupposes that each party has something to offer. Now we have no offer to make, whereas this gentleman comes with his offer in his hand and says, ‘Would you like three hundred million francs in gold? In that case you must do so-and-so with it. If that doesn’t suit you, good-evening.’ That’s the position, isn’t it, Masseron?”
“Yes, monsieur le président.”
“Well, can you dispense with our friend here? Can you, without his assistance, find the place where the gold is hidden? Observe that he makes things very easy for you by bringing you to the place and almost pointing out the exact spot to you. Is that enough? Have you any hope of discovering the secret which you have been seeking for weeks and months?”