“That's it,” said he, nodding. “That's the guy—von Westfall.”
So the influence of that scoundrel has penetrated to Peking! He has actually got himself regarded as an “authority”! I did n't know what to say or think. But Hindmann calmed me down a good deal. He has a steadying influence on me, anyway.
“You needn't sputter at me,” he said. “I did n't write it.”
“I know,” said I. “But I was not thinking of you. I do not know what to do. I was to have had tea with the Minister to-day.”
“Well,” remarked Hindmann, around his cigar, “why not?”
“Why not?” I repeated. “It is impossible. This man will wish to talk my subject—my subject!—with the work of that charlatan at his elbow. No, I will not talk with him. I can not. Don't you see?”
“No,” said Hindmann, “not exactly.”
“I am at once placed in competition with one that I know to be an absolute impostor. The Minister will take seriously what he regards as his own views. But they will not be his own—they will be the views of von Westfall. Don't you see? I can't go!”
Hindmann sat for a little while, smoking and thinking. He has a very comfortable way of settling his plump person into a big arm-chair.
“Look here,” he said. “You want to go over there. It's worth doing.”