Kindling (16 page)

He hesitated for a moment, and approached their table. Hélène rose to meet him, stretched out a hand, and dragged him down into the seat beside her. “Dear Elias,” she said. “I had thought that you were not coming to-night, and I was sad. Permit that I introduce M’sieur Ouarren, who has been entertaining us so well.”

The Minister’s eyes flickered to the bottles, critically, and then away. “I am enchanted,” he said thickly. “It is a pleasure to meet M’sieur Ouarren.”

“On the contrary,” said Warren, “and beyond doubt, the pleasure is entirely mine. M’sieur will do me the honour to drink a glass of wine?”

Herr Braum sank down into a seat by Virginio, ill at ease. Hélène poured a glass of champagne for the Minister, kissed the lip of the glass, and handed it to him to drink.

Warren caught the waiter’s eye. “Cigars,” he said. “Havanas, of the best.”

The Minister settled into his chair, one arm around Hélène. “You have visited in Visgrad before?” he asked Warren.

“Twice before—in connection with the Visgrad waterworks. I had some part in that business.”

“Ah, the waterworks. M. Potiscu has told me.” The Minister ruminated for a moment. “That was a very good business,” he said at last, reflectively.

“If all my business could be of equal benefit to the Laevatian people,” said Warren, “I should indeed be pleased.”

The band beat to a heavy rhythm, the dancers moved upon the floor, the cigar smoke curled about them, thickening the air. Twice Theopoulos took Hélène down to dance upon the floor, but returned each time to the cigars and French champagne. From time to time one or other of the party left to do a turn of cabaret, and returned.

The evening was drawing on. The air grew thicker, heavier; small beads of perspiration appeared upon the heavy countenance. Warren turned to the Minister.

“It grows warm,” he said, “too warm to dance. M’sieur would perhaps prefer the cards?”

The heavy face lit up. “Assuredly. You know our game of cards?”

Warren smiled, and shook his head. “I have been here for so short a time. One game, perhaps—when I was here before.… You put down three cards, so——”

“Ja—ja—ja,” said the Minister. “And then one other, so. That is in order. That game we call Polski Bank.”

Warren nodded. “I remember the name, now. We could play that game, if you wish?”

“With all my heart.” He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced a wad of greasy notes. They cut
the cards round, and Herr Braum took the first Bank.

Half an hour later they paused. The Minister had won sixty-three dinars—about six pounds; Warren had lost seventy-two; the German and Virginio were about all square. In high good-humour Theopoulos took Hélène down to dance again.

Herr Braum smiled at Warren. “Matters have not gone well for you to-night. For a financial expert, to lose so much money!” He made a little clicking noise with his teeth.

“In finance,” said Warren, “one does not always win from the first deal. One must have courage, and see the game through.”

“That is to say,” said the German, “if one has the financial strength to see the game through to the end.”

Warren eyed him steadily. “In England, we do not engage in games unless we can pay if we lose,” he said. He picked up the cards and shuffled them. “Let us play a game until the Minister returns,” he said. “We two will play alone—Virginio here can Bank for us. Unless, perhaps,” he added, “your country has not the financial resources of my own?”

The German smiled. “A war of international finance. M’sieur, let us begin.”

The Minister returned after the second hand, and took another glass of the champagne. “M’sieur,” said Warren, “I ask your pardon, but this game is between us two. Herr Braun has doubted my financial standing, and—in our English idiom—I go to trim the pants off him.”

Rita translated quickly, and in Rabelaisian manner. The Minister laughed, and took another cigar. “This
will be good to watch,” he said. “Germany against England, to the death. Proceed, Messieurs.”

Virginio dealt the cards again. “A hundred dinars,” said the German insolently, and threw a note down on the left-hand card. “That is, if that is not too high a stake.”

Warren beckoned to the waiter. “Bring counters,” he said. He turned to the German, laying down his note upon the centre card. “M’sieur, I suggest that one yellow counter counts a hundred dinars, a blue one five hundred dinars, and a red one a thousand dinars.”

The German moistened his lips. “That will be convenient.”

The Minister leaned across the table and filled another glass for himself. “This is indeed a game.”

They played on for an hour. Slowly the place was emptying, and the band beat more slowly, the thick air grew less oppressive. Virginio sat dealing, impassive, hardly moving. Theopoulos sat with one arm around Hélène and lounging in his seat, smoking innumerable cigars. Pepita leaned both elbows on the table, watching the game intently, a glass beneath her hands. At Warren’s side the pile of coloured chips grew steadily.

At last he paused. “M’sieur,” he said, “I am desolated, but the fortune does not seem to be with you to-night. Would you prefer that we should stop?”

“By no means,” said the German. “We will go on.”

“For the honour of Germany,” said Warren softly. “It is as you wish, M’sieur.” He turned to the Minister. “I fear that this must be infinitely boring, M’sieur.”

“By no means,” said the Laevatian thickly.

Warren bowed. “For me,” he said, looking at his watch, “I do not agree. It is late; it is not good to be awake beyond five o’clock. Soon we must make an end; if M’sieur will agree, from now onwards we play only with the red counters.”

The German nodded shortly. Pepita laughed, tense, and a little shrill. “I declare—the English think of nothing but their beds.”

In half an hour the pale light was visible around the edges of the curtains at the windows; the band was silent. The German got up suddenly from the table. “I will not go further.”

Warren nodded gravely. “As you wish, M’sieur. I am desolated that your fortune has been so unfavourable.” He turned to Virginio. “And the count?”

The croupier figured with a paper and a pencil. “Eighteen thousand and seven hundred dinars.” He passed the pad to Theopoulos. “M’sieur le Ministre perhaps would verify the account?” Theopoulos yawned, and leaned erect. “It is in order,” he said heavily. “Eighteen thousand and seven hundred dinars, from Herr Braum to M’sieur Ouarren. Over nineteen hundred of your English sterling. It makes a record for the Gonea.”

“I will send a draft during the day,” said the German shortly. He left them with a formal bow, and went towards the entrance, outlined in grey light.

The others followed him, and dispersed in the chilly morning streets.

Warren went back to his hotel, and slept till midday; then he got up and had a bath, dressed carefully, and went downstairs to lunch. As he passed through the
hall, the porter handed him an envelope; it contained Herr Braum’s cheque upon a Berlin bank.

He slept again after lunch, then walked by the river for an hour. He dined alone, and went to the Gonea about ten o’clock.

Pepita came to him. “M’sieur is now satisfied?”

“But certainly. It was well arranged, that. For to-night, also, I desire to make the party, to play cards with M. Theopoulos.”

“I declare, M’sieur, it will be necessary to have care. It will not be wise that you should win from M. Theopoulos.”

He smiled. “Mademoiselle, you must be still one half asleep. It is not my intention to win.”

She pouted. “M’sieur—I do not think you are an honest man. I have sympathy for the poor Herr Braum.”

He smiled again. “To-night, then, you may have sympathy for the poor M. Warren.”

He stopped a waiter. “Ask M. Virginio if he will visit us, to take a glass of wine.”

He went to meet the saturnine young man as he approached. “It was well arranged, last night,” he said. He passed an envelope to the other. “That, I think, will find itself in order—eighteen hundred and seventy-six dinars, thirty cents.”

The other bowed. “M’sieur is punctilious to keep a bargain.”

“It would not be possible to do business otherwise. To-night also, we will make the party—yes? This time, again, I wish to play with M. Theopoulos, and to lose money.”

“Assuredly. I do not think that Herr Braum will accompany him to-night.”

“So? For what reason?”

“One has said that Herr Braum to-day was received coldly to-day by the Minister. One has also said that this evening the Minister has received M. Potiscu, and that for an hour they have discussed your business, M’sieur.”

Warren nodded slowly. “That may be.”

He went back to Pepita; presently they were joined again by Hélène, Rita, and Virginio. Presently Theopoulos arrived; he came sauntering to their table.

Warren rose to meet him. “This is indeed a pleasure, M’sieur. Permit that I pour for you a glass of wine. Herr Braum, he is not with you to-night?”

The Minister shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know what has become of him. Perhaps he has returned to Germany.”

“I was desolated at his bad fortune last night. I wished to offer him the return game.”

The Minister chuckled. “I do not think, M’sieur, that he would wish to play.”

Warren looked concerned. “Then you should play for him, M’sieur. I won a large amount of money; it is right that there should be the return game. The game of Polski Bank is governed much by chance; it is impossible that chance should run in one way all the time.”

The Minister eyed him narrowly. “One would imagine so, M’sieur. But certainly we will play again. This time, perhaps, I trim the pants from you, is it not so?”

“I hope not, M’sieur.”

His hopes were unfulfilled. When in the cold dawn the party finally broke up, he owed the Minister two thousand and seventy-five pounds sterling.

He rose from the table. “It is true, M’sieur,” he said a little ruefully, “the luck does not run in the same way for two evenings running.” He produced a cheque-book. “I can write you now my draft, M’sieur—or perhaps it would be more convenient if I obtain notes in dinars during the day?”

The Minister grasped him affectionately by the arm. “That will be the more convenient, dear M’sieur Ouarren,” he said silkily. “We are here in Visgrad, and an English cheque will not be so good. But do not derange yourself. In the afternoon, at about five o’clock, we meet at the Ministry to discuss the tank ships for the Oil Development?”

Warren nodded. “That will be a suitable occasion, M’sieur. I will obtain the notes by then.”

He walked for a little in the town before returning to his hotel. A few early ox-carts went creaking through the streets; in the houses there was a faint stir of awakening life. He stood for a few moments by the bridge over the river, drawing long, deep breaths; the air was fresh after the staleness of the cabaret. It was faintly aromatic, perfumed with the dust, the wood smoke, pines, and garlic of the town.

Far to the north, he thought of Sharples, grey and desolate in the same dawn, bitterly idle.

“Well,” he said, half to himself, “we’re on the way.”

T
HE
Consul tapped his pince-nez nervously upon the desk. “It was good of you to come down, Mr. Warren,” he began. “The Ambassador wanted me to have a word with you.”

“Oh, yes?”

The Consul coughed. “The Ambassador feels very strongly that it is the duty of the English community in Visgrad to set an example of probity and correct behaviour in these Balkan states.” He coughed again.… “After all, you will understand better than most of us that it is on those principles that our commercial prosperity is founded.”

“Hadn’t you better tell me what you’re driving at?”

“It’s about those parties of yours at this night-club the Gonea, Mr. Warren. The Ambassador was not at all pleased when he heard about them.”

Warren nodded slowly. “I’m exceedingly sorry if they don’t fit in with his ideas,” he said. “But I really don’t see what it’s got to do with him.”

The Consul raised his eyebrows. “Is it correct that on successive evenings you have won, and lost, sums up to two thousand pounds a night?”

“That is so.”

“Well, Mr. Warren—as of course you know—the Ambassador is the head of the British community in this country. When a man as well recommended as you
are arrives in Visgrad and begins to gamble on that scale, and—if I may say so—in the most dubious company, it naturally engages the attention of the Embassy. And I may tell you frankly, Mr. Warren, that the Embassy don’t like it.”

There was a silence in the room. “You mean,” said Warren, “that unless I mend my ways I shall no longer be
persona grata
at the Embassy.”

“You put it very bluntly. But—well, that is the gist of it.”

“That means, the British Government would withdraw their support. They’d tell the Laevatian Government that they’d be wiser not to deal with me?”

“I cannot recall such a case. But in the extreme, the Ambassador might decide to take that action.”

Warren smiled. “Well,” he said, “you can tell the Ambassador that I’m going to mend my ways. I don’t think it will be necessary for me to gamble on that scale again—that’s served its turn. But I tell you, I’m not going home without my order. And you know how business is done out here as well as I do.”

The Consul sighed. “I know—and that’s what makes it difficult. However, I’ll tell the Ambassador what you have said, and I am sure he will be satisfied.”

For three days Warren worked for eighteen hours a day. He engaged a sitting-room as an office and obtained the services of a stenographer; he spent the business hours in conferences, principally at the Treasury. The afternoons and evenings were spent in getting out new drafts for the next day. Before going to bed he dropped in for an hour at the Gonea with Pepita; that was his sole diversion.

At the end of that time he had reached the point where he could go no further without consultation with the market in London.

He explained this to M. Potiscu at the Treasury. “It is necessary that I return to London for a short time to explore the underwriting,” he said in French. “Also, I will arrange for the preparation of the plans of the tank ships, for the Ministry of Marine. In fifteen days I will return again; in the meantime, the Cabinet will no doubt consider these, the Heads of our Agreement.” He indicated the papers in his hand.