“A fool in an organization,” continued the doctor oracularly, “is like a bad plate on a ship, or a weak link in a chain. Let it snap, and what happens? You and I die, my dear Gurther. We go up before a stupid man in a white wig and a red cloak, and he hands us to another man who puts a rope around our necks, drops us through a hole in the ground—all because we have a stupid man like Herr Montague Newton to deal with.” “_Ja, Herr Doktor_,” said Gurther as his master stopped. He felt that this comment was required of him. “Now, I will tell you the whole truth.” The doctor carefully knocked off the ash of his cigar into the saucer of his cup. “There is a fortune for you and for me, and this girl that we have in the quiet place can give it to us. I can marry her, or I can wipe her out, so! If I marry her, it would be better, I think, and this I have arranged.” And then, in his own way, he told the story of the hill of gold, concealing nothing, reserving nothing—all that he knew, all that Villa had told him. “For three-four days now she must be here. At the end of that time nothing matters. The letter to Lisbon—of what value is it? I was foolish when I tried to stop it. She has made no nominee, she has no heirs, she has known nothing of her fortune, and therefore is in no position to claim the renewal of the concession.” “Herr Doktor, will you graciously permit me to speak?” The doctor nodded. “Does the Newton know this?” “The Newton knows all this,” said the doctor. “Will you graciously permit me to speak again, Herr Doktor? What was this letter I was to have taken, had I not been overcome by misfortune?” Oberzohn examined the ceiling. “I have thought this matter from every angle,” he said, “and I have decided thus. It was a letter written by Gonsalez to the Secretary or the Minister of the Colonies, asking that the renewal of the concession should be postponed. The telegram from my friend at the Colonial Office in Lisbon was to this effect.” He fixed his glasses, fumbled in his waistcoat and took out the three-page telegram. “I will read it to you in your own language— “‘Application has been received from Leon Gonsalez, asking His Excellency to receive a very special letter which arrives in two days. The telegram does not state the contents of the letter, but the Minister has given orders for the messenger to be received. The present Minister is not favourable to concessions granted to England or Englishmen.’” He folded the paper. “Which means that there will be no postponement, my dear Gurther, and this enormous fortune will be ours.” Gurther considered this point and for a moment forgot to smile, and looked what he was in consequence: a hungry, discontented wolf of a man. “Herr Doktor, graciously permit me to ask you a question?” “Ask,” said Oberzohn magnanimously.