Sir Stephen drew a long breath of relief, and drank some more brandy.
"Thank God!" he murmured. "What can I say--what can I do to--to express
my gratitude--my sense of your forbearance, Falconer?"
Falconer, with his eyes narrowed to slits, looked at him keenly.
"Oh, I'll dispense with your gratitude, Orme. We'll agree to forgive
and--forget. This is the last word we'll say about it."
Sir Stephen, as if he could scarcely believe his ears, gazed at his
magnanimous foe in silence.
"No half measures with me--you remember me of old," said Falconer. "The
subject's done with," he moved his thick hand as he were sweeping it
away. "Pass the whiskey. Thanks. Now, let's have the chat you kept me
up for."
Sir Stephen wiped his lips and forced a smile.
"Tell me about yourself; what you have been doing since we--er--all
this long time."
Falconer shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, it isn't as interesting a story
as yours," he said. "I've just rubbed along with bad and good luck in
streaks; fortunately for me, the good ones were thicker and more
frequent than the bad ones. Lake yourself I married; like yourself, I'm
a widower. I've one child--Maude. She's been at school and under the
care of some people on the Continent, while I've been at work; and I've
come to England now to settle down. That tells enough of my story. I
know yours, as the rest of the world does. You're famous, you see."
There was a pause; then he looked over his glass, and said: "What's you little game at the present moment, Orme?"
Sir Stephen looked at him interrogatively, as if he were still rather
confused by the terrible scene which they had gone through.
"Why have you built this place and got all these people here?" said
Falconer. "I know enough of Wirsch and Griffinberg and the Beltons to
be aware chat they wouldn't come down to the lakes at this time of the
year unless there was something worth coming for, something--and a
pretty good sum--to be made."
Sir Stephen looked down at the floor for a moment, as if he were
considering; then he leant forward.
"I'll tell you," he said, with an air of decision, and with a return of
his usual coolness and aplomb. A dash of colour rose to his face, his
fine eyes grew bright; he was the "man of affairs," the great financier
again. "It's Africa this time," he said, in a low voice, and with a
glance at the door. "I've another treaty--"