“Yes, Lanny — but to steal!”
“You have had papers stolen for you — at least I got that idea, Robbie. You told me you had got some papers belonging to that Prince Vanya, or whoever it was, in Russia.”
“Yes, son; but that was different.”
A subtle point, hard for a boy to get. There were things you hired servants to do, detectives and that sort of persons, whose business it was. But you wouldn't do these things yourself; your dignity was offended by the very thought of doing them. Lanny had stepped out of his class as a gentleman.
Robbie stood staring at the piece of fashionable stationery, addressed in a lady's handwriting; and the boy's unhappiness grew. “I honestly thought I'd be helping you,” he pleaded.
The father said: “Yes, I know, of course. But you made a mistake.”
Another pause, and Robbie inquired: “Do you know if Zaharoff has come back to the hotel?” When Lanny answered that he had, the father said: “I think you must take this letter to him.”
“Take it, Robbie?”
“Tell him how you got it, and apologize.”
“But, Robbie, how awful! What excuse can I give?”
“Don't give any excuse. Tell him the facts.”
“Shall I tell him who I am?”
“That's a fact, isn't it?”
“Shall I tell him that you think he stole your papers?”
“That's a fact, too.”
Lanny saw that his father was in an implacable mood; and, rattled as the boy was, he had sense enough to know what it meant. Robbie wished to teach him a lesson, so that he wouldn't turn into a thief. “All right,” he said. “Whatever you say.”
He took the letter and started toward the door. Then, an idea occurring to him, he turned. “Suppose he beats me?”
“I don't think he'll do that,” replied the other. “You see, he's a coward.”
X
Lanny went by the stairway, not wanting anybody to see him. He knew the room number. He knocked, and to a young man who came to the door he said: “I have a letter for M. Zaharoff.”
“May I have it, please?” asked the man.
“I have to hand it to him personally.”
The secretary took him in with practiced professional eye. “Will you give me your name?”
“I would rather give it to M. Zaharoff. Just tell him, please, that I have a letter which I must put into his hands. It'll only take a moment.”
Perhaps the secretary saw about Lanny Budd those signs which are not easy to counterfeit, and which establish even a youngster as entitled to consideration. “Will you come in, please?” he said, and the lad entered a drawing room full of gilt and plush and silk embroidery and marble and ormolu — all things which fortify the self-esteem of possessors of wealth. Lanny waited, standing. He didn't feel at home and didn't expect to.
In a minute or two a door was opened, and the master of Europe came in. He had changed his ugly broadcloth coat for a smoking jacket of green flowered silk. He came about halfway and then said: “You have a message for me?” The boy was surprised by his voice, which was low and well modulated; his French was perfect.
“M. Zaharoff,” said Lanny, with all the firmness he could summon, “this is a letter of yours which I stole. I have brought it to you with my apologies.”
The old man was so surprised that he did not put out his hand for the letter. “You stole it?”
“My father told me that you caused his portfolio to be stolen, so I thought I would pay you back. But my father does not approve of that, so I am bringing the letter.”
The old spider sensed a trembling in his web. Such a trembling may be caused by something that spiders eat, or again it may be caused by something that eats spiders. The cold blue eyes narrowed. “So your father thinks that I employ thieves?”
“He says that is your practice; but he doesn't want it to be mine.”
“Did he tell you to tell me that?”
“He told me that whatever questions you asked me I was to answer with the facts.”
This, obviously, was something which might be of importance. Wariness and concentration were in every feature of Basil Zaharoff. He knew how to watch and think, and let the other person betray himself. But Lanny had said his say, and continued to hold the letter.
So finally the munitions king took it; but he did not look at it. “May I ask your name, young man?”
“My name is banning Prescott Budd.”
“Of Budd Gunmakers Corporation?”
“That is my family, sir.”
“Your father is Robert Budd, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Another silence; Lanny had the feeling that everything that had ever been in his soul was being read and judged. He felt sure that the prominent hooked nose was smelling him. “Have a seat, please,” said the old man, at last.
Lanny seated himself on the front half of a chair, and the Greek sat near. He examined the letter, then opened it slowly. A smile relieved the concentration on his face, and he handed the document to the boy, saying: “Oblige me, please.”
Lanny thought it was his duty to read it. It said, in French:
“The Marquise des Pompailles requests the pleasure of the company of M. Zaharoff and the Duquesa de Villafranca to tea at five this afternoon to meet the Prince and Princess von Glitzenstein.”
“A little late,” said the munitions king dryly.
“I am sorry, sir,” murmured Lanny, his face burning.
“We should not have gone,” said the other. In all Lanny's imaginings, it had never occurred to him that an old Greek devil might have a sense of humor; but it was now plain that he did. His lips smiled; but oddly enough, Lanny felt that the blue eyes were not smiling; They still watched.
“Thank you, sir,” said Lanny, returning the letter.
Another silence. Finally the old gentleman remarked: “So Robert Budd thinks I have had his portfolio stolen! May I inquire where this happened?”
“On board the steamer Pharaoh, sir.”
“The thief has not yet reported to me; but as soon as he does, I promise that I will return the property unopened — just as you have done with mine. You will tell your father that?”
“Certainly, sir. Thank you.” Lanny was quite solemn about it, and only afterward did he realize that Zaharoff had been “spoofing” him.
“And you won't feel that you have to intercept any more of my invitations?”
“No, sir.”
“You are going to be an honorable and truthtelling young gentleman from now on?”
“I will try, sir,” said Lanny.
“I, too, used to have the same thought upon occasions,” said the munitions king. Was it wistfulness or was it humor in his soft voice? “However, I found that it would be necessary for me to retire from my present business — and unfortunately it is the only one I have.”
Lanny didn't know how to reply, so there was another silence.
When Zaharoff spoke again, it was in a business-like tone. “Young man, you say that your father told you to state the facts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then tell me: does your father wish to see me?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“You don't think that he sent you here for that purpose?”
Lanny was taken aback. “Oh, no, sir!” he exclaimed. Then realizing the full implication of the question, he decided to fight back, “My father once told me about Bismarck — who said that the way he fooled people was by telling them the truth.”
The old man smiled again. “You are a clever lad,” said he; “but don't let Bismarck fool you with nonsense like that. Do you think your father would object to seeing me?”