The Shadow 106 by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

DUSK had deepened. The Nepenthe was wallowing in the rising sea. Slight pitches; long rolls - these told that the yacht was due for heavy weather. Curt was stretched in an easy chair, reading a magazine. He lighted a cigar and gained an opportunity to survey the room.

Hubert Craylon and Gregg Lownden were engaged in an unimportant discussion across a card table. Trenge had gone down to the galley; Leigh was on duty in his stead. Apparently the two stewards were sharing the work during these evening hours.

Curt remembered that Diana Craylon had gone from the lounge some time before. His present survey showed him that Count Louis Surronne was also absent.

Without a word, Curt placed his magazine aside. He strolled to the doorway, steadied himself as the ship pitched, then continued across the cross passage and along the corridor that led in the direction of the cabins.

He descended the stairway, passed the long rows of closed doors and stopped when he reached the double stairway at the stern. After a short pause, he went up to the stern deck. Gloom greeted him; only a few feeble lights showed a portion of the deck.

There was a sweep of wind; the splash of spray. The deck was not inviting. But with a lull, there came the sound of voices. Crouched in the gloomy doorway, Curt peered in the direction of the sound.

He saw two persons, near to the wall beside the opening. He had recognized the speakers: Count Louis Surronne and Diana Craylon. The yacht rolled; water surged across the rail. The two drew closer to the doorway. It brought them close enough for Curt to hear the conversation.

“I tell you, Diana!” Surronne’s exclamation was a sharp one. “The opportunity is immense. It would interest your father.”

“I hardly believe so, Louis,” returned the girl. “He has so many investments already.”

“Of course!” Surronne’s English, though colloquial, had a French accent. “That is why he would be interested in ones that are better.”

“Then why don’t you tell him about the Algerian properties?”

“Bah! Your father does not take stock in what I say. He thinks that I am an adventurer.”

“Perhaps he is right, Louis.”

“Suppose he may be? What difference? I have friends in Paris, important men who give me information. It is on their word - not mine - that I say these Algerian properties are valuable.”

The count paused, then spoke in a purring tone.

“The French government is to buy them,” he emphasized. “Within two years - three - the properties will be worth millions of francs. I have heard this from important deputies.”

“Yet they have not bought the land?”

“Of course not. They dare not. There would be scandals. Such things happen often in France. Those deputies must keep their hands away. Not even their friends can venture.”

“You are one of their friends?”

“Not a real friend to any deputy. Only a chance person who overheard statements that were indiscreet. Should your father purchase lands, none would suspect.”

“But you would ask a share?”

“A portion of the gain.

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