"Well," Barclay said at last, rising and lighting a cigar.

"It all seems pretty plain sailing. I'll go to-morrow and see old Statham about it. His secretary, Rolfe, is a friend of mine."

"No, Mr Barclay," said the wily Adam. "If I were you I would not."

"Why?"

"Well, if you do, you'll queer all our plans--both yours and mine," he mused vaguely.

"How?"

"Sam Statham has agents in Constantinople--agents who could offer Muhil double the price immediately, and the ground would be cut from under our feet. Statham knows a good thing when he sees it, you bet, and if he knew anything about this he wouldn't stick at a thousand or two."

"Then he doesn't know?"

"At present he can't know. It is a secret between Muhil, Osman, and myself?"

"And what about the French people?"

"Of course they know; but they're not such fools as to let out the secret," replied Adam.

"Well, what do you suggest?" Max asked, taking a pull at the long tumbler.

"That we keep the affair strictly to ourselves. Once we have the concession in our hands there'll be a hundred men in the City ready to take it up. Why, old Statham would give us a big profit on it, especially if, as you say, you know his secretary."

"That was his secretary's sister whom you met with me to-night," Max remarked.

"What an extremely pretty girl," exclaimed Adam enthusiastically.

"Think so?" asked Barclay with a smile of satisfaction. "Why, of course. A face like here isn't seen every day. I was much struck with it when I first noticed you from the circle, and wondered whom she might be. Rolfe's her name, is it?" he added with a feigned air of uncertainty.

"Yes. Charlie Rolfe is old Sam's confidential secretary."

"Well, afterwards, through him, we might interest Sam," remarked Adam.

"What we have first to do is to get hold of the concession."

"But how?"

"By buying it."

The two men smoked in silence. Adam's quick eye saw that the affair was full of attraction for the man he had marked down as victim.

"You mean that I should put twelve thousand into it?" he said.

"Not at all," responded the wily Adam at once. "In any case I do not propose that you should put up the whole sum. My idea is that we should put up six thousand each."

"And go shares?"

"And go shares," repeated Adam, knocking the ash from his cigar. "But prior to doing so I think it would be only right for you to go out to Constantinople, see Muhil, and ascertain the truth of the whole affair.

You have only my word for it all--and the letter. I quite admit that they are not sufficient guarantee for you to put down six thousand. You are too good a business man for that."

Max was flattered by that last sentence.

"Well," he said smiling, "I really think it would be more satisfactory if I had--well, some confirmation of all these comments."

"You can obtain that at once by going out to Constantinople," declared Adam. "You'll be out and home in ten days, and I'll go with you," he added persuasively.

"Well, I shall have to consider it," the younger man replied after a brief pause.

"There is very little time to consider," Adam said. "The French people are at work, and if they raise the purchase price to Muhil we shall be compelled to do the same."

"But we can get an option, I suppose?"

"I have it. But it expires in ten days from to-morrow. After that Muhil will make the best terms he can with the French. The latter will have to pay through the nose, no doubt, but they'll get it, without doubt. Their Emba.s.sy is helping them."

"And how long can I have to decide?"

"To reach Constantinople in time we have six days more. We might then take the Orient Express from Paris and just do it. But," he added, "of course if your inclination is against the journey and inquiry I hope you'll allow me to a.s.sess it before somebody else. Personally," he laughed, "I can't afford to miss this chance of making a fortune. This, remember, is no wild mining speculation: it's solid, bed-rock enterprise. The Servians surveyed the line four years ago and got out plans and estimates. There's a printed copy of them at the Servian Consulate here in London. So it's all cut-and-dried."

"Well I hope, Adam, you'll allow me a little time to reflect. Six thousand is a decent sum, you know."

"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 _bona fides_ of the scheme. Muhil himself must first a.s.sure you of the existence of the _irade_, 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 n.o.body, 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.

He took a final drink, slipped on his coat, and with a merry _bon soir_ and an injunction to make up his mind and wire him at the earliest moment, he shook his friend's hand and went out.

Max sat alone for a long time, still smoking. In his ignorance he was reflecting that the business seemed a sound one. Adam had not asked him to put down money before full inquiry, and had, at the same time, offered to put up half. This latter fact, in itself, showed that his friend had confidence in the scheme.

And so, before he turned in that night, he had practically made up his mind to pay a flying visit to the Sultan's capital. There could be no harm done, he argued. He had never been in Constantinople, and to go there with a resident like Adam was in itself an opportunity not to be missed.

Meanwhile the astute concession-hunter, as he drove to Addison Road in a cab, was calmly plotting a further step in the direction he was slowly but surely following. His daring and ingenuity knew no bounds. He was a man full of energy and resource, unabashed, undaunted, unscrupulous, and yet to all, even to his most intimate friend, a perfect sphinx.