With Frank’s departure, the sun of her existence had set. The future was only grey and darkening, like the dismal, dispiriting scene that spread before her.
Love and life were, alas, lost to her for ever.
Away over those leafless trees, eastward beyond Hyde Park and Grosvenor Square, a curious scene was, at that moment, being enacted in the house of her enemies.
Challas, stout and pompous, was standing with his back to the library fireplace, while in an armchair near, sat the white-bearded old German Professor.
“You see from this ‘wire’ from Jim, that all goes along beautifully Erich,” the Baronet was saying. “He has engaged a Turk to purchase the land on both sides of the Mount, the price asked being a little bit stiff—eight thousand pounds for the lot. I ‘wired’ him this morning to close at the lowest price possible, and at the same time I’ve placed him a credit of ten thousand at the Ottoman Bank in Jerusalem.”
“Then by this time the deal is closed,” remarked the old German, rubbing his thin hands in satisfaction. “Ah! I wonder how our friend Griffin now feels?”
“Yes,” laughed Sir Felix, “thanks to Jim we obtained the whole secret without the trouble of deciphering it. That was a smart move of his to capture the little girl as he did.”
“Yes,” laughed the old man, “it seems that we’re on the straight road to success.”
“The road!” echoed the great financier. “Why, by this time, I expect the land is ours, and if so, I shall start myself on Saturday. I mean to keep my intentions ‘dark,’ of course. The papers will say that I’ve gone to Vienna, for if it were known that I’d gone to Jerusalem there are men in the City who would be keeping a wary eye on me. They know that when Felix Challas goes abroad, it’s generally to see some good thing or other. That’s the worst of this cursed popularity. The public eye is upon one the whole time.”
As he spoke, the old butler tapped at the door, and handed him another telegram, which he broke open eagerly.