When the man with the handwriting was once more alone with his chief, the latter said, “Two hundred guilders are all you want for the present; I’ll keep the rest for you, in case you should get into difficulties again. Never mind about the interest—I’ll pay that.”
Van Teuten was fairly dazzled by such liberality. There must be something behind it—probably the State secret.
The news went like wildfire through the department how that unlucky devil of a Van Teuten had been set on his legs again by Van Arlen! Zuigman knew what to think of it—he had seen documents; but he never spoke, and that his colleagues knew right well.
Talm, too, had his say on the subject,—Talm, who had introduced the millionaire, and had, yesterday evening, walked on the terrace at Scheveningen arm in arm with his chief’s wife. Further and further spread the fire, and every one made his conjectures. Van Teuten’s rescue remained the great event of the day.
It struck three, when Prigson was announced. Van Arlen was deep in his work.
“What zeal! But of course you want to leave the books in good order when you go!”
“I’m not thinking of going, Prigson.”
“What do you say? And our agreement?”
“I have made no definite agreement; but, in so far as I have made any promise to join you, I withdraw it.”
“What the deuce! Van Arlen, aren’t you right in your head?”