“How can I tell?” asked the girl. “Mr Barclay mentioned that the railway concession would mean the commercial development of the Balkan States, and that it would be one of the most paying enterprises in Europe.”
“That is admitted on all hands. But as the concession is not granted, and never will be granted, I cannot see what object Adam has in inducing your friend to visit Constantinople. Was he asked to put money into the scheme, do you know?”
“Mr Adam did not wish him to put up any money until he had thoroughly satisfied himself regarding the truth of his statements.”
Statham was silent.
“That’s distinctly curious,” he remarked at last, apparently much puzzled by her statement. “Underlying it all is some sinister motive, depend upon it.”
“You alarm me, Mr Statham,” the girl said, apprehensive of some unexpected evil befalling the man she loved.
“It is as well to be forearmed in dealing with Jean Adam,” was the old man’s response. “More than one good man owes the ruin of his life’s happiness, nay his death, to the craft and cunning of that man, who, under a dozen different aliases, is known in a dozen different capitals of the world.”
“Then he’s an adventurer?”
“Most certainly. Tell Barclay to come and see me. Or better, I will write to him myself. It is well that you’ve told me this, otherwise—” and he broke off short, without concluding his sentence.
The pretty clock chimed the half-hour musically, reminding Marion of the unusual hour, and she stirred as if anxious to leave. Her handkerchief dropped upon the floor. The old man noticed it, but did not direct her attention to it.