"Let me introduce you. Mr.
Blumenruth, my son Hildebrand."
The financier bowed, but he still looked unhappy at Tinker's presence.
A waiter brought him some soup, and he began upon it hurriedly. Sir
Tancred went on with his dinner in a tranquil indifference. The
financier finished his soup: looked again at Tinker, and burst out:
"Well, it can't make any difference! I want your help, Sir Tancred,
and you're the one man in England who can help me; you're used to these
things." And he smudged the dust on his face a little more.
Sir Tancred murmured politely, "Only too pleased."
"I must be in Paris either to-night or to-morrow morning for an hour's
talk with Meyer before the Bourse opens. And I must leave England
without anyone knowing I've left it. It may make a difference to me
of--of a hundred thousand pounds."
"Pardon me," said Sir Tancred suavely. "I like my clients to be open
with me. It will make a difference of ruin. The Cohens have you in a
hole."
The millionaire gasped, "My goodness! how did you know? It means
ruin--or--or I make a hundred thousand."
"I see," said Sir Tancred. "Well?"
"I left London quietly in a motor-car. Before I'd gone twenty miles, a
racing Panhard, stuffed with private detectives--men I've sometimes
employed myself"--he almost sobbed at the thought--"passed me; and
another came up, and dropped back to a mile behind.
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