The agent rose to go.
"Meanwhile," he said, leaning over the desk, "it might be well for you to get a grip on the fact that Sachigo's going right on. It's the greatest groundwood proposition in the world. I know enough of Harker to realise his capacity to make it do just what he needs. And as for that other—this Sternford kid—why, I gather he's a pretty live wire that's set there for a reason. The slogan up there's much what it was, only the words are changed."
Hellbeam sucked his cigar and removed it from his lips.
"Changed? How?" he demanded, without suspicion.
"It was 'Canadian trade for the Canadians,'" Idepski said, his dark eyes snapping maliciously. "It's more personal since the fighting kid came along. It reminds me of the German slogans of the war. It's 'To hell with the Swedes, we'll drive 'em into the sea.'"
The financier nodded. His armour was impenetrable.
"The Germans said much," he said.
"That's all right, these folks aren't Germans," came the prompt retort, as Idepski picked up his hat and gloves.
"No." Hellbeam remained seated. It was not his way to speed a departing visitor. "I'm glad. Oh, yes." He smiled into the other's face, and his meaning was obvious. "You go to this camp. You find this missionary. That's work for you. The other—" his eyes dropped to the papers on the desk before him—"this mill, this Sachigo is for me. It is much nearer to the sea than the Skandinavia. Oh, yes."