“I don’t want it until you’ve been out there and seen Muhil, Mr Barclay,” Adam declared. “Indeed, I refuse to touch it until you have personally satisfied yourself of the bonâ fides of the scheme. Muhil himself must first assure you of the existence of the iradé, and that it is actually in is possession. Then I will put up six thousand if you will put up the balance.”
“And if it is more than twelve?”
“Why, we share the increase equally, of course.”
“Very well. So far as it goes it is agreed,” said Max. “It only remains whether I go out to Turkey, or not.”
“That’s all. The sooner you can decide, the better for our plans,” Adam remarked. “Only take good care that old Statham does not learn what’s in the wind. You know him, I believe?”
“Yes, slightly. He’s a queer old fellow—very eccentric.”
“So I’ve heard,” said the other, betraying ignorance. What would Max Barclay have thought if he had witnessed that scene so recently when the millionaire had glanced out of his cosy library and seen the shabby stranger lounging against the railings of the Park? What, indeed, would he have thought if he had witnessed old Sam’s consequent agitation, or overheard his confession to Rolfe?
But he knew nothing of it all. Adam had shown him the best side of his nature—the easy-going and keen money-making cosmopolitan whose manner was so gentlemanly and so very charming. He had not seen the other—the side which Samuel Statham knew too well.
Adam, seated there in the big saddle-bag chair, in the full enjoyment of the excellent cigar, knew that with the exercise of a little further ingenuity he would make the first step towards the goal he had in view. He was a man who took counsel of nobody, and even the old hunchback Lyle, his closest friend, knew nothing of his object in drawing Max Barclay, until recently a perfect stranger, into the fatal net spread for him.
He smiled within himself as he calmly contemplated his victim through the haze of tobacco smoke. The dock upon the mantelshelf had struck two.