The Return Of Bulldog Drummond (20 page)

“I have,” answered the other quietly. “And if you listen to me I will tell it to you.”

“Fire ahead,” said Hardcastle. “We’ll do the listening all right.”

And when, ten minutes later, the Italian had finished, the eyes of his audience were gleaming with excitement.

“It’s genius,” cried the American: “sheer genius. Gardini, you’re wasted.”

“There are many details still to be thought out,” said the secretary, “but we have plenty of time. I would suggest that you approach him as soon as possible, but wait for a sign from me that he is in a good temper. For on this first step rests everything. And then, my friends, if that is successful, we shall know what to do. You working at your end, and I at mine, will between us get that devil where he has put so many others – in the dust.”

And with a gloating look of anticipation in his eyes Benito Gardini left the room.

“You’re right, Tom,” said the Comtessa, as the door closed, “it’s sheer genius. But can we pull it off?”

“We can have a damned good shot at it, my dear,” he answered. “You’d better let me put it up to him first as a business proposition; then if he havers about it you two might be able to turn the scales. But you’ll know nothing about it till I tip you the wink.”

It was after dinner that same night that the secretary gave Hardcastle a meaning glance which told him that the moment was propitious. The millionaire was in the lounge enjoying a cup of coffee, and as the American halted by his table he smiled at him.

“Come and join me, Mr Hardcastle,” he said affably. “Where are the two charming ladies?”

“Playing bridge, I think.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down: he had already decided that direct methods would be the most likely to succeed.

“And I am rather glad they are, Sir Edward,” he continued, “because I should like the pleasure of a few minutes’ private conversation with you. For the last two or three days I have been turning over in my mind a certain idea, and with your permission I would like to put it before you. I may say at once that it is connected with film work.”

The slight frown that had been gathering on the financier’s forehead disappeared.

“Now we are both men who are accustomed to come to the point at once, so I will do so now. Does the thought of playing a big part in a story I have in mind appeal to you at all? Wait a moment, Sir Edward, before you reply. My reason for asking a man of your great wealth and position is a simple one. It is solely a question of art. You fulfil my conception of this part, in a way that no one else can – at least no one else that I have yet met. And it occurred to me that it might amuse you, in the same way that amateur theatricals amuse some people, to act this role. It would be an experience, if nothing else, and the whole thing could be arranged to suit your convenience as far as time is concerned.”

“It is a matter that requires careful thought, Mr Hardcastle,” said the other. “You will readily appreciate that a man in my position has to be very careful what he does.”

Not a muscle in Hardcastle’s face moved, but he knew the fish was rising.

“Naturally, Sir Edward,” he remarked. “And those points would all have to be considered. But before wasting time over that, the thing I would like to know is whether – always provided they can be settled satisfactorily – you would be prepared to act the part.”

“I think I may say,” said the millionaire, after a pause, “that, subject to my other manifold interests not being interfered with, I would be prepared to do so.”

Hardcastle lit a cigar: the fish was hooked.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Then from now on we can talk business. That main vital point being settled, we can come to the details. And the details will not be uninteresting, I venture to think, for there is going to be money in this, and big money. To begin at the beginning, however. Until I met you I had proposed to hand this story over to one of the American firms, take my fee as author, and wash my hands of the business. Now I have a very much larger scheme in my mind. And it is nothing less than this, Sir Edward: that you and I should go into partnership over it with the predominating interest yours. That we should acquire a studio – I know of one going for a mere song in England – get our own cameramen, scenario writers and all the usual paraphernalia of the film trade. I will obtain a first-class cast to support you, and then we will stage the thing ourselves, with you in the principal role.”

“Why should the predominating interest be mine?” said the financier shrewdly.

“Because, Sir Edward, you are the predominating draw,” answered the other candidly. “I realise, of course, that it will be impossible officially to state that Sir Edward Greatorex, the great financier, is acting on the films. But,” he smiled meaningly, “there are methods of letting these things be known unofficially. You will be billed as Mr X – the unknown man. That in itself will prove an attraction. But when, after a while, whispers get about as to who Mr X really is, we’ll have the biggest winner of modern times.”

He smacked the palm of his hand with his fist enthusiastically.

“And what sort of a part are you proposing for me?” asked Sir Edward.

“That, sir, is where the cream of the idea comes. I want you to play the role of a world-famous financier: in other words, you will be yourself. Can you beat it? It would be indiscreet of me to mention the name of the very exalted person who was approached with the idea of playing the part of royalty in a recent production. But you can take it from me that so keen was the firm on getting royalty to play royalty that the terms they offered would have made the country solvent. And this is the same idea. To play the part of an international financier we get the greatest of them all.”

His enthusiasm was contagious, and the millionaire’s eyes began to glisten.

“It really seems a very sound proposition,” he remarked.

“Sound, sir!” snorted the other. “Two or three more of the same sort and Tom Hardcastle can retire. I’ll be candid with you, Sir Edward. I’m not in my business for the good of my health: I want money. And when I see a lump of it lying about waiting to be picked up, I don’t look the other way.”

The financier nodded approvingly: such sentiments always commanded his warmest admiration.

“Now I’ve worked out this thing pretty carefully,” continued Hardcastle, “and if I’m any judge at all you may take it from me that we’ll each of us handle six figures in pounds – not dollars – by the time we’re through. Of course,” he added, with a deprecating smile, “I know that such a sum as that is nothing to you. Still, you will have had the satisfaction of playing a big part for which you are entirely suited, and of showing the world that it is possible to combine intellectual and artistic genius.”

He paused for a moment: was he laying it on a bit too thick? Apparently not: Sir Edward’s face registered nothing but pleasure.

“Have you the story with you, Mr Hardcastle?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. But it’s only in here at the moment.” The American tapped his forehead. “And it’s only roughed out. Until I get it cut and dried I would sooner not run the risk of giving you a false impression about it.”

“Quite: quite. And one other thing. What about the original costs: the renting of the studio and other preliminaries?”

For the fraction of a second Hardcastle paused: should he chance it? In view of the millionaire’s extreme affability, was it worthwhile trying to touch him for that? And then he remembered that there is always a tomorrow morning, and even if Greatorex agreed that night, it might just be sufficient to make him change his mind later.

“Leave all that to me, Sir Edward,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “I will give you a full account of all expenses, and shall naturally deduct that sum from our total profits before we share the residue.”

“And the basis of the sharing?”

Hardcastle considered the point.

“Sixty–forty?” he said tentatively. “The sixty to you.”

“Very fair,” answered the other. “Then I take it you will keep me posted in all details?”

“Most certainly. But don’t expect results too soon. To hurry anything when we have such a marvellous winner as this would be a crime. And one other thing, Sir Edward, which is most important. Say nothing about it to anyone. Half the punch will be gone if the secret leaks out too soon.”

“I quite agree,” said the financier, rising. “Well, Mr Hardcastle, I am more than ever pleased that I met you.”

“Mutual, sir: mutual. And between us we will show ’em what can be done.”

He watched the millionaire cross the lounge and enter the lift; then he beckoned a waiter.

“Bring me a bottle of Bollinger, boy,” he said. “I haven’t the capacity for a magnum.”

Which brief account of how certain people drank the waters at Baden may serve to explain to the intelligent reader the reason of the scenario in Sir Edward’s hands as he sat in his suite at the Ritz Carlton. And if it has also revealed the fact that Benito Gardini was not the model secretary he appeared to be on the surface, I can only retort that since his first introduction was when wearing a soft black hat, the intelligent reader should have been wise to his character long ago.

“They would like you at the studio as soon after ten-thirty as possible, sir,” remarked Gardini. “The car will be here at half-past nine.”

“I can manage that,” said Sir Edward, putting down the scenario with obvious reluctance. “Anything important tonight?”

“The question of Peruvian Eagles is still in abeyance.”

“What did they close at tonight?”

“They gave way to 5
1
/
4
.”

The millionaire grinned sardonically.

“Did they indeed? Snap up every share you can tomorrow at that price and up to 5
1
/
2
.”

The secretary made a note.

“The report is here from Upper Burma,” he continued.

“Good or bad?”

“I have not had time to read it very carefully, sir, but from a brief glance I should call it indifferent.”

“I’ll look at it later. What else?”

One by one Gardini ran through the items, receiving curt and concise instructions on each: Sir Edward prided himself on his brevity. Not once was an alteration necessary: he never spoke till his mind was made up, and then he went straight to the root of the matter. He had the gift of sloughing off irrelevant details and seeing in an instant the real point: in a complicated problem, while other men followed elusive will-o’-the-wisps, he found the vital issue, and never left it. And as Gardini stood there, motionless and deferential, pencil in hand, waiting for each decision, he was conscious, not for the first time, of an unwilling admiration for the brain that could control such vast destinies with so little apparent effort. And not for the first time also, did he marvel at the amazing mixture which, at one moment, dealt calmly with millions and the next haggled over sixpence in a bill.

The last letter finished with, Gardini returned to his own room, and Sir Edward threw himself back in his chair. For a while he did not pick up the script of the film: his frame of mind lay, at the moment, more in an abstract survey of his position rather than in the concrete study of the scenario. It amused him to think that the very scene he had just enacted with his secretary was going to be seen by millions of people all over the world. Would they realise, he wondered, that it was the actual truth? That that was how big finance was carried through? Just two men: a few quiet words, and later the repercussions felt in every corner of the globe. Or would they imagine enormous offices with typewriters clicking, and excited men dashing in and out all day? That had been his idea, he remembered, when he was a boy: he had pictured himself sitting in an inner holy of holies, with dozens of telephones on his desk and different coloured lights that flashed on according to who it was who wanted an interview. But then he had been earning a pound a week: now – what was he worth?

A sudden gleam came into his eyes as the realisation of the power he wielded crossed his mind. Done on his own, too – from nothing. Every penny he possessed had been made by his own brain: he was indebted to no one. And if a few thousand people had crashed by the wayside to mark his victorious progress, the more fools they. That was more or less the theme of the film, and he picked up the scenario again.

But he still did not open it: another train of thought had started. Could it really be possible that he, a man of machine-like habits and customs, whose life was run on timetable methods, was actually going to act in a film next day? Now that the moment had come so near, he almost wished he had never consented. Supposing he made a mess of it: supposing Hardcastle for once had made a mistake, and he was not suitable for the part. He had been amazingly enthusiastic at lunch, but there was always the possibility that he was wrong. What was it he had said? “The most stupendous winner of the last ten years.”

Good fellow – Hardcastle, and a capable business man. He seemed to have kept down expenses wonderfully, and from what Gardini said there was no sign of cheeseparing at the studio. However, that he would see for himself next day: no one could spot more quickly than he any wasteful extravagances. Must be a man with a certain amount of money, too, since he ran a yacht. Some idea of using it for one or two of the scenes, and at that a sudden fear struck him.

“Gardini,” he called, and the Italian entered. “That yacht of Hardcastle’s: is it his own or has he hired it?”

“I really couldn’t say, Sir Edward,” answered the other.

“There’s no question of that being added to the expenses, is there, if he uses her for making some of the film?”

“I will inquire into the matter,” said the secretary, turning away lest his employer should see the look of utter contempt in his eyes. “By the way, sir,” he resumed a moment later, “I don’t know if you have seen this paragraph in the evening paper.”

He handed a copy to Sir Edward and indicated the place.

“It is rumoured that a most sensational disclosure may take place in the near future with regard to one of the principal actors in the film ‘High Finance,’ which is now being made at Blackwater studio. Inquiries there failed to elicit anything more than that his identity is cloaked under the pseudonym Mr X.”