The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
while the two Germans looked at him with sudden interest. As the man at the head of the great American cotton trust, worth more in millions than he could count, he was entitled to their respect…
“That’s me, Count,” returned the millionaire in his nasal twang.
“I am interested to know to what I am indebted for this invitation.”
“All in good time, Mr. Hocking,” smiled the host. “I have hopes that the dinner will fill in that time satisfactorily.”
He turned to the taller of the two Germans, who without his coat seemed more like a cod-fish than ever.
“Herr Steinemann, is it not?” This time he spoke in German. The man whose interest in German coal was hardly less well known than Hocking’s in cotton, bowed stiffly.
“And Herr von Gratz?” The Count turned to the last member of the party and shook hands. Though less well known than either of the other two in the realms of international finance, von Gratz’s name in the steel trade in Central Europe was one to conjure with.
“Well, gentlemen,” said the Count, “before we sit down to dinner, I may perhaps be permitted to say a few words of introduction. The nations of the world have recently been engaged in a performance of unrivalled stupidity. As far as one can tell that performance is now over. The last thing I wish to do is to discuss the war—except in so far as it concerns our meeting here tonight. Mr. Hocking is an American, you two gentlemen are Germans. I”—the Count smiled slightly—“have no nationality. Or rather, shall I say, I have every nationality. Completely cosmopolitan… Gentlemen, the war was waged by idiots, and when idiots get busy on a large scale, it is time for clever men to step in… That is the raison d’être for this little dinner… I claim that we four men are sufficiently international to be able to disregard any stupid and petty feelings about this country and that country, and to regard the world outlook at the present moment from one point of view and one point of view only—our own.”
The gaunt American gave a hoarse chuckle.
“It will be my object after dinner,” continued the Count, “to try and prove to you that we have a common point of view. Until then—shall we merely concentrate on a pious hope that the Hotel Nationale will not poison us with their food?”
“I guess,” remarked the American, “that you’ve got a pretty healthy command of languages, Count.”
“I speak four fluently—French, German, English, and Spanish,” returned the other. “In addition I can make myself understood in Russia, Japan, China, the Balkan States, and—America.”
His smile, as he spoke, robbed the words of any suspicion of offence. The next moment the head waiter opened the door, and the four men sat down to dine.
It must be admitted that the average hostess, desirous of making a dinner a success, would have been filled with secret dismay at the general atmosphere in the room. The American, in accumulating his millions, had also accumulated a digestion of such an exotic and tender character that dry rusks and Vichy water were the limit of his capacity.
Herr Steinemann was of the common order of German, to whom food was sacred. He ate and drank enormously, and evidently considered that nothing further was required of him.
Von Gratz did his best to keep his end up, but as he was apparently in a chronic condition of fear that the gaunt American would assault him with violence, he cannot be said to have contributed much to the gaiety of the meal.
And so to the host must be given the credit that the dinner was a success. Without appearing to monopolise the conversation he talked ceaselessly and well. More—he talked brilliantly. There seemed to be no corner of the globe with which he had not a nodding acquaintance at least; while with most places he was as familiar as a Londoner with Piccadilly Circus. But to even the most brilliant of conversationalists the strain of talking to a hypochondriacal American and two Germans—one greedy and the other frightened—is considerable; and the Count heaved an inward sigh of relief when the coffee had been handed round and the door closed behind the waiter. From now on the topic was an easy one—one where no effort on his part would be necessary to hold his audience. It was the topic of money—the common bond of his three guests. And yet, as he carefully cut the end of his cigar, and realised that the eyes of the other three were fixed on him expectantly, he knew that the hardest part of the evening was in front of him. Big financiers, in common with all other people, are fonder of having money put into their pockets than of taking it out. And that was the very thing the Count proposed they should do—in large quantities…
“Gentlemen,” he remarked, when his cigar was going to his satisfaction, “we are all men of business. I do not propose therefore to beat about the bush over the matter which I have to put before you, but to come to the point at once. I said before dinner that I considered we were sufficiently big to exclude any small arbitrary national distinctions from our minds. As men whose interests are international, such things are beneath us. I wish now to slightly qualify that remark.” He turned to the American on his right, who with his eyes half closed was thoughtfully picking his teeth. “At this stage, sir, I address myself particularly to you.”
“Go right ahead,” drawled Mr. Hocking.
“I do not wish to touch on the war—or its result; but though the Central Powers have been beaten by America and France and England, I think I can speak for you two gentlemen”—he bowed to the two Germans—“when I say that it is neither France nor America with whom they desire another round. England is Germany’s main enemy; she always has been, she always will be.”
Both Germans grunted assent, and the American’s eyes closed a little more.
“I have reason to believe, Mr. Hocking, that you personally do not love the English?”
“I guess I don’t see what my private feelings have got to do with it. But if it’s of any interest to the company, you are correct in your belief.”
“Good.” The Count nodded his head as if satisfied. “I take it, then, that you would not be averse to seeing England down and out.”
“Wal,” remarked the American, “you can assume anything you feel like. Let’s get to the show-down.”
Once again the Count nodded his head; then he turned to the two Germans.
“Now you two gentlemen must admit that your plans have miscarried somewhat. It was no part of your original programme that a British Army should occupy Cologne…”
“The war was the act of a fool,” snarled Herr Steinemann. “In a few years more of peace we should have beaten those swine…”
“And now—they have beaten you.” The Count smiled slightly. “Let us admit that the war was the act of a fool if you like, but as men of business we can only deal with the result…the result, gentlemen, as it concerns us. Both you gentlemen are sufficiently patriotic to resent the presence of that army at Cologne I have no doubt. And you, Mr. Hocking, have no love on personal grounds for the English… But I am not proposing to appeal to financiers of your reputation on such grounds as those to support my scheme… It is enough that your personal predilections run with and not against what I am about to put before you—the defeat of England…a defeat more utter and complete than if she had lost the war.”
His voice sank a little, and instinctively his three listeners drew closer.
“Don’t think that I am proposing this through motives of revenge merely. We are business men, and revenge is only worth our while if it pays. This will pay. I can give you no figures, but we are not of the type who deal in thousands, or even hundreds of thousands. There is a force in England which, if it be harnessed and led properly, will result in millions coming to you… It is present now in every nation—fettered, inarticulate, uncoordinated… It is partly the result of the war—the war that the idiots have waged… Harness that force, gentlemen, co-ordinate it, and use it for your own ends… That is my proposal. Not only will you humble that cursed country to the dirt, but you will taste of power such as few men have tasted before…”