‘Sorry must withdraw offer contained in our letter yesterday. Princesse shares now thirty-five.--Gaunt and Griffiths.’ The erstwhile Napoleon passed the orange-coloured paper to Sir Arthur Custer. ‘No answer,’ he said calmly to the page. CHAPTER XIII--THE VASE The sensation of the next day’s Stock Exchange was the unsuccessfulness of the attempts of Simon Lock’s brokers--he employed several different firms--to buy La Princesse shares. It was not definitely stated who wanted these shares, but everyone seemed to be aware that Simon Lock was the man in the hole. The Exchange laughed quietly to itself; it did not dare to laugh aloud, for Simon Lock was still a person to be feared. Not a single share was to be obtained at any price; they had all been withdrawn from the market. In vain Simon Lock tried to discover the holders. The identity of the holders seemed to be wrapped in impenetrable mystery. He went to one man, a member of the Westralian market, who varied the excitements of the Exchange by the excitements of prodigious play at Monte Carlo, and took him out to lunch. The great Simon Lock actually took this man, a nonentity in the distinguished financial circles in which Simon moved, out to lunch at a famous and expensive restaurant, where those City men who want real turtle soup can always get it. ‘My people sold you ten thousand Princesse shares the other day,’ said Simon Lock ingratiatingly to this man. ‘True,’ said the man cautiously, ‘at three.’ ‘Just so,’ said Lock; ‘and we have to deliver in a week.’ ‘In a week,’ repeated the man absently. ‘Well, look here,’ said Simon Lock, making a sudden plunge, ‘we don’t want to deliver; it doesn’t suit us. See?’ ‘You don’t want to deliver? Why not?’ ‘Never mind why. The question is, what will you take to release us from the contract?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘You’ll release us for nothing?’ ‘I mean I can’t release you, Mr. Lock,’ said the man with formal politeness. ‘My clients have given me positive instructions.’ ‘Who are your clients?’ ‘That I am not at liberty to say.’ ‘Tell me who your clients are,’ said Simon Lock, ‘and I’ll give you five thousand down.’ The man shook his head sadly. He would have liked that five thousand, but he dared not accept it. ‘Are you acting for Gaunt and Griffiths?’ asked Simon Lock. ‘No,’ said the man, glad to be able to give a positive answer. ‘Waiter, the bill,’ Simon Lock cried, and then gave a sigh. The bill came to thirty shillings--thirty shillings wasted! He reflected that in a few weeks’ time, unless something happened, he might be in serious need of that thirty shillings. Nevertheless, such is human nature, the idea of Simon Lock being hard up for thirty shillings was so amusing to him that he could not dismiss a smile. The other man wondered what evil that smile portended.