"I'm just back from Sachigo," he said.
"Hah!"
The financier settled himself more comfortably in his chair, and returned his cigar to his gross mouth.
"Tell me," he demanded.
"Easy. Things are moving our way."
The dark eyes glanced over the table for the gold cigarette box that always stood there.
"Help yourself," the banker ordered rather than invited.
Idepski needed no second bidding.
"You got all my code messages?" he asked. "Good," as the Swede nodded. "Then you know the position of the mill. Say, that feller Harker needs a sort of apology from me—also from you. The mill's a wonder. And he's the guy that's fixed it that way. You haven't a thing in Skandinavia comparable. I'd say you haven't a feller on your side capable of touching the fringe of that tough's genius for organisation. It's him. Not Martin—I mean Standing."
"And Standing?"