That Lord Ferriby had again made himself clear was sufficiently indicated by the fact that Major White nodded his head at this juncture with portentous gravity and wisdom.

"As to the question of profit and loss," continued Lord Ferriby, "I am not, unfortunately, a business man myself, but I think we are all aware that the business part of the Malgamite scheme is in excellent hands.

It is not, of course, intended that we, as shareholders, shall in any way profit by this new financial basis. We are shareholders in name only, and receive profits, if profits there be, merely as trustees of the Malgamite Fund. We shall administer those profits precisely as we have administered the fund--for the sole benefit of the malgamite workers. The profits of these poor men, earned on their own share, may reasonably be considered in the light of a bonus. So much for the basis upon which I propose that we shall work. The matter has had Mr. Roden's careful consideration, and I think we are ready to give our consent to any proposal which has received so marked a benefit. There are, of course, many details which will require discussion----Eh?"

Lord Ferriby broke off short, and turned to Roden, who had muttered a few words.

"Ah--yes. Yes, certainly. Mr. Roden will kindly spare us details as much as possible."

This was considerate and somewhat appropriate, as Tony Cornish had yawned more than once.

"Now as to the past," continued Lord Ferriby. "The works have been going for more than three months, and the result has been uniformly satisfactory----Eh?"

"Many deaths?" inquired White, stolidly repeating his question.

"Deaths? Ah--among the workers? Yes, to be sure. Perhaps Mr. von Holzen can tell you better than I."

And his lordship bowed in what he took to be the foreign manner across the table.

"Yes," replied Von Holzen, quietly, "there have, of course, been deaths, but not so many as I antic.i.p.ated. The majority of the men had, as Mr. Cornish will tell you, death written on their faces when they arrived at The Hague."

"They certainly looked seedy," admitted Tony.

"We will, I think, turn rather to the--eh--er--living," said Lord Ferriby, turning over the papers in front of him with a slightly reproachful countenance. He evidently thought it rather bad form of White to pour cold water over his new whitewash. For Lord Ferriby's was that charity which hopeth all things, and closeth her eye to practical facts, if these be discouraging. "I have here the result of the three months' work."

He looked at the papers with so condescending an air that it was quite evident that, had he been a business man and not a lord, he would have understood them at a glance. There was a short silence while he turned over the closely written sheets with an air of approving interest.

"Yes," he said, as if during those moments he had run his eye up all the column of figures and found them correct, "the result, as I say, gentlemen, has been most satisfactory. We have manufactured a malgamite which has been well received by the paper-makers. We have, furthermore, been able to supply at the current rate without any serious loss. We are increasing our plant, and the day is not so far distant when we may, at all events, hope to be self-supporting."

Lord Ferriby sat up and pulled down his waistcoat, a sure signal that the fountain of his garrulous inspiration was for the moment dried up.

With great presence of mind Tony Cornish interposed a question which only Roden could answer, and after the consideration of some statistics, the proceedings terminated. It had been apparent all through that Percy Roden was the only business man of the party.

In any question of figures or statistics his colleagues showed plainly that they were at sea. Lord Ferriby had in early life been managed by a thrifty mother, who had in due course married him to a thrifty wife.

Tony Cornish's business affairs had been narrowed down to the financial fiasco of a tailor's bill far beyond his facilities. Major White had, in his subaltern days, been despatched from Gibraltar on a business quest into the interior of Spain to buy mules there for his Queen and country. He fell out with a dealer at Ronda, whom he knocked down, and returned to Gibraltar branded as unbusiness-like and hasty, and there his commercial enterprise had terminated. Von Holzen was only a scientist, a fact of which he a.s.sured his colleagues repeatedly.

If plain speaking be a sign of friendship, then women are a.s.suredly capable of higher flights than men. A lifelong friendship between two women usually means that they quarrelled at school, and have retained in later days the privilege of mutual plain speaking. If Jones, who was Tompkins's best man, goes yachting with Tompkins in later days, these two sinners are quite capable of enjoying themselves immensely in the present without raking about among the ashes of the past to seek the reason why Tompkins persisted, in spite of his friends' advice, in making an idiot of himself over that Robinson girl--Jones standing by all the while with the ring in his waistcoat pocket. Whereas, if the friendship existed between the respective ladies of Jones and Tompkins, their conversation will usually be found to begin with: "I always told you, Maria, when we were girls together," or, "Well, Jane, when we were at school you never would listen to me." A man's friendship is apparently based upon a knowledge of another's redeeming qualities. A woman's dearest friend is she whose faults will bear the closest investigation.

It was doubtless owing to these trifling variations in temperament that Joan Ferriby learnt more about The Hague and Percy Roden and Otto von Holzen, and lastly, though not leastly, Mrs. Vansittart, in ten minutes than Tony Cornish could have learnt in a month of patient investigation. The first five of these ten precious minutes were spent in kissing Dorothy Roden, and admiring her hat, and holding her at arm's length, and saying, with conviction, that she was a dear. Then Joan asked why Dorothy had ceased writing, and Dorothy proved that it was Joan who had been in default, and lo! a bridge was thrown across the years, and they were friends once more.

"And you mean to tell me," said Joan, as they walked up the Korte Voorhout towards the ca.n.a.l and the Wood, "that you don't take any interest in the Malgamite scheme?"

"No," answered Dorothy. "And I am weary of the very word."

"But then you always were rather--well, frivolous, weren't you?"

"I did not take lessons as seriously as you, perhaps, if that is what you mean," admitted Dorothy.

And Joan, who had come across to Holland full of zeal in well-doing, and as seriously as ever Queen Marguerite sailed to the Holy Land, walked on in silence. The trees were just breaking into leaf, and the air was laden with a subtle odour of spring. The Korte Voorhout is, as many know, a short broad street, spotlessly clean, bordered on either side by quaint and comfortable houses. The traffic is usually limited to one carriage going to the Wood, and on the pavement a few leisurely persons engaged in taking exercise in the sunshine. It was a different atmosphere to that from which Joan had come, more restful, purer perhaps, and certainly healthier, possibly more thoughtful; and charity, above all virtues, to be practiced well must be practiced without too much reflection. He who lets wisdom guide his bounty too closely will end by giving nothing at all.

"At all events," said Joan, "it is splendid of Mr. Roden to work so hard in the cause, and to give himself up to it as he does."

"Ye--es."

Joan turned sharply and looked at her companion. Dorothy Roden's face was not, perhaps, easy to read, especially when she turned, as she turned now, to meet an inquiring glance with an easy smile.

"I have known so many of Percy's schemes," she explained, "that you must not expect me to be enthusiastic about this."

"But this must succeed, whatever may have happened to the others,"

cried Joan. "It is such a good cause. Surely nothing can be a better aim than to help such afflicted people, who cannot help themselves, Dorothy! And it is so splendidly organized. Why, Mr. Johnson, the labour expert, you know, who wears no collar and a soft hat, said that it could not have been better organized if it had been a strike. And a Bishop Somebody--a dear old man with legs like a billiard-table--said it reminded him of the early Christians' _esprit de corps_, or something like that. Doesn't sound like a bishop, though, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," admitted Dorothy, doubtfully.

"So if your brother thinks it will not succeed," said Joan, confidently, "he is wrong. Besides"--in a final voice--"he has Tony to help him, you know."

"Yes," said Dorothy, looking straight in front of her, "of course he has Mr. Cornish."

"And Tony," pursued Joan, eagerly, "always succeeds. There is something about him--I don't know what it is."

Dorothy recollected that Mrs. Vansittart had said something like this about Tony Cornish. She had said that he had the power of holding his cards and only playing them at the right moment. Which is perhaps the secret of success in life, namely, to hold one's cards, and, if the right moment does not present itself, never to play them at all, but to hold them to the end of the game, contenting one's self with the knowledge that one has had, after all, the makings of a fine game that might have been worth the playing.

"There are people, you know," Joan broke in earnestly, "who think that if they can secure Tony for a picnic the weather will be fine."

"And does he know it?" asked Dorothy, rather shortly.

"Tony?" laughed Joan. "Of course not. He never thinks about anything like that."

CHAPTER XI.

IN THE OUDE WEG.

"Le sage entend a demi mot."

The porter of the hotel on the Toornoifeld was enjoying his early cigarette in the doorway, when he was impelled by a natural politeness to stand aside for one of the visitors in the hotel.

"Ah!" he said. "You promenade yourself thus early?"

"Yes," answered Cornish, cheerily, "I promenade myself thus early."

"You have had your coffee?" asked the porter. "It is not good to go near the ca.n.a.ls when one is empty."

Cornish lingered a few minutes, and made the man's mind easy on this point. There are many who obtain a vast deal of information without ever asking a question, just as there are some--and they are mostly women--who ask many questions and are told many lies. Tony Cornish had a cheery way with him which made other men talk. He was also as quick as a woman. He went about the world picking up information.

The city clocks were striking seven as he walked across the Toornoifeld, where the morning mist still lingered among the trees. The great square was almost deserted. Holland, unlike France, is a lie-abed country, and at an hour when a French town would be astir and its streets already thronged with people hurrying to buy or sell at the greatest possible advantage, a Dutch city is still asleep. Park Straat was almost deserted as Cornish walked briskly down it towards the Willem's Park and Scheveningen. A few street cleaners were leisurely working, a few milkmen were hurrying from door to door, but the houses were barred and silent.

Cornish walked on the right-hand side of the road, which made it all the easier for Mrs. Vansittart to perceive him from her bedroom window as he pa.s.sed Oranje Straat.