an
elderly deliberation; at his gesture Von Wetten sat likewise, a few
yards away; Herr Haase moved a pace, hesitated, and remained
standing.

"I'll stand," said Bettermann shortly. "And what are the three things
that you have got to do?"

"Why," replied the Baron, evenly, "the obvious three, surely to pay
for your broken window nicht wahr? to pay the fine for killing the
fish, and to pay your price for the machine. There is nothing else to
pay for, is there?"

"Oh!" The young man stared at him.

"So, if you will tell us the figure that will content you, we can
dispatch the matter," continued the Baron. "That is your part to name
a figure. Supposing always" his voice slowed; the words dropped one
by one "supposing always that there is a figure!"

The other continued to stare, gaunt as a naked tree in the evening
flush, his face white under his tumbled hair, the jagged scar
showing, upon it like a new wound.

"You don't suppose you'll get the thing for nothing, do you?" he
broke out suddenly.

The Baron shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think that. But it
has struck me I may not need my cheque-book. You see, for all I can
tell, Herr Bettermann, the window may be insured; and the police may
not hear of the fish; and as for the machine well, the machine may be
for sale; but you have less the manner of a salesman, Herr
Bettermann, than any man I have ever seen."

The gaunt youth glowered uncertainly. "I'm not a salesman," he
retorted resentfully.

The Baron nodded. "I was sure of it," he said. "Well, if you will let
me, I'll be your salesman for you; I have sold things in my time, and
for great prices too. Now, I can see that you are in a difficulty.
You are a patriotic Swiss citizen and you have scruples about letting
your invention go out of your own country; is that it? Because, if
so, it can be arranged."

He stopped; the lean youth had uttered a spurt of laughter, bitter
and contemptuous.

"Swiss!" he cried. "No more Swiss than yourself, Herr Baron!"

"Eh?" To Herr Haase, watching through his mask of respectful
aloofness, it was as though the Baron's mind and countenance together
snapped almost audibly into a narrowed and intensified alertness. The
deep, white-fringed brows gathered over the shrewd pale eyes. "Not a
Swiss?" he queried. "What are you, then?"

"Huh!" the other jeered, openly. "I knew you the moment I saw you.
Old Herr Steinlach, eh? Why, man, I've been expecting you and getting