Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- Fiction; Political fiction
In a quarter of an hour a little calm was restored to him, though by
this time the rapid electric service of the Electric Traction Syndicate
had carried him far beyond the limits of Croydon. He got out at a
roadside office, wrote out and tore up again half a dozen telegrams,
seized a time-table, determined that after all the train was his best
refuge, and catching the 12.17 at Norwood Junction, found himself
in the heart of the City before half-past one. A hansom took him to
his office after several intolerable but unavoidable delays in the
half-mile it had to traverse. His visible perturbation was a matter of
comment to his subordinates, who were not slow to inform him before he
opened his mouth that the documents had not yet arrived.
Exhaustion followed so much feverish activity, an anxiety, deeper if
possible than any he had yet shown, settled upon Mr. Clutterbuck's
features. He forgot to lunch, he walked deliberately to the warehouse,
only to be asked what his business might be, and to be told that the
particular section of eggs which he named were the property of Messrs.
Czernwitz and Boyle, and could be visited by no one without their
written order.
The tone in which this astonishing message was delivered would have
stung a man of less sensitiveness and breeding than Mr. Clutterbuck;
he turned upon his heel in a mood to which anger was now added, and
immediately sought the office of that firm. But he was doomed to yet
further delay. No one was in who could give him any useful information,
nor even any one of so much responsibility as to be able to explain to
him the extraordinary occurrences of the last few days.
He was at the point of a very grave decision--I mean of going on to
his lawyers and perhaps disturbing to no sort of purpose the most
delicate of commercial relations--when there moved past him into the
office the ponderous and well-clad form of a gentleman past middle age,
with such magnificent white whiskers as adorn the faces of too many
Continental bankers, and wearing a simple bowler hat of exquisite shape
and workmanship. He was smoking a cigar of considerable size and of
delicious flavour, and by the deference immediately paid to him upon
his entry, Mr. Clutterbuck, as he stood in nervous anxiety by the door,
could distinguish the head of the firm.
It was characteristic of the Baron de Czernwitz, and in some sort
an explanation of his future success in our business world, ever
so suspicious of the foreigner, that the moment he had heard Mr.
Clutterbuck's name and business, he turned to him, in spite of his many
preoccupations, with the utmost courtesy and said:
"It iss myself you want? You shall come hier."
With these words he put his arm in the most gentlemanly manner through
that of his exhausted visitor, and led him into an inner room furnished
with all the taste and luxury which the Baron had learnt in Naples,
Wurtemburg, Dantzig, Paris, and New York.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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