Gaunt glanced at the clock and then thought for a few moments.
“Put out the cigars and you can go. Send them in as soon as they arrive.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alone, John Gaunt paced restlessly to and fro, and the expression on his face was not a pleasant one. To all intents and purposes the foundation of his vast fortune rested on “red rubber.” It was the Congo that had supplied him with the capital necessary for his first financial schemes; and the revelations of the methods employed in that country annoyed him.
Punctually at the time appointed Weiss arrived. The man was a typical German-Jew, who had made a fortune on the Rand, and with him there came two other men of his race. The latter were also financiers and usually followed where Weiss led, greatly to the advantage of their pockets.
“Good-morning, Gaunt. There’s a cable from the manager of the Amanti Mine just come in.”
Weiss’ accent was not that of the Jew of fiction and the stage, for he spoke slowly and correctly, and it was only by intonation that he showed his race.
“So it has arrived?” Gaunt answered quickly.
“Yes—and we thought it would be just as well to come to an understanding. To our joint account you have bought about twenty thousand shares at an average of seven and six.”
“That is so, Weiss.”