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Lady Orlay looked at her fan reflectively as she opened and closed it. "Reginald Cartoner has turned up quite suddenly," she said. "Mr. Mangles has arrived from Washington. You are here from Paris. A few minutes ago old Karl Steinmetz, who still watches the nations en amateur, shook hands with me. This Prince Bukaty is not a nonentity. All the Vultures are assembling, Paul. I can see that.
She says she can't help it." Cartoner looked at him as one who has ears but hears not. He made no reply. "Distresses her very much," concluded Mangles, dexterously shifting his cigar by a movement of the tongue from the port to the starboard side of his mouth. Cartoner did not seem to be very much interested in Miss Netty Cahere.
When a question of Spain or of, say, Cuba, arises, a bell is rung in the high places of the Foreign Office, and a messenger in livery is despatched for Cartoner, who, as likely as not, will be discovered reading El Imparcial in his room.
You know the Third Europa Advance Battery?" "Yes," answered Cartoner. "The cliff recedes there. There is a drop of four hundred metres, and then deep water." "Yes, I know." "It was there," hissed the old Spaniard, with a terrible gleam in his eyes. "We sat there on the low walk, and I spoke to him.
Like the majority of Englishmen, Cartoner had that fever of the horizon which makes a man desire to get out of a place as soon as he is in it. The average Englishman is not content to see a city; he must walk out of it, through its suburbs and beyond them, just to see how the city lies.
Deulin turned and looked at his companion. "Then you have met him that puts another complexion on your question." "I have just crossed the Atlantic in the next chair to him." "And that is all you know about him?" Cartoner nodded. "Then Joseph P. Mangles is getting on." "What is he?" repeated Cartoner.
The Minnie was a hospitable ship, according to her facilities, and her skipper began by polishing a tumbler with a corner of the table-cloth. Then he indicated the vacant swing-back bench at the far side of the table, and sat down opposite to Cartoner himself. "Was up the Baltic," he explained. "Pit props. Got a full cargo on board.
He opened a door, and stood aside for Deulin to pass into a comfortably furnished room, where Cartoner was seated at a writing-table. "Good-morning," said the Frenchman. As he passed the table he took up a book and went towards the window, where he sat down in a deep arm-chair. "Don't let me disturb you," he continued. "Finish what you are doing." "News?" inquired Cartoner, laying aside his pen.
He leaped back, abandoning his horse, and striking the first-comer full in the chest with his fist. He charged the next and knocked him over; but from the third he retreated, leaping quickly to one side. "Bukaty!" he cried; "don't you know me?" "You, Cartoner!" replied Martin. He spread out his arms, and the men behind him ran against them.
"And what do you want Lady Orlay to do for Princess Wanda?" inquired Cartoner, with a smile. It was always a marvel to him that Paul Deulin should have travelled so far down the road of life without losing his enthusiasm somewhere by the way. "That I leave to Lady Orlay," replied Deulin, with an airy wave of his neat umbrella, which imperilled the eyesight of a passing baker-boy, who abused him.
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