e at once began to
speculate. After various vicissitudes he had become Mr. Bamberger's
private secretary, and had held that position some time in spite of
his one failing, because he had certain qualities which made him
invaluable to his employer until his nerves began to give away. One of
those qualities was undoubtedly his power of holding his tongue
even when under the influence of drink; another was his really
extraordinary memory for details, and especially for letters he had
written under dictation, and for conversations he had heard. He was
skilful, too, in many ways when in full possession of his faculties;
but though Isidore Bamberger used him, he despised him profoundly,
as he despised every man who preferred present indulgence to future
profit.

Feist lit a cigarette and blew a vast cloud of smoke round him, but
made no answer to his employer's last observation.

'Now this is what I want you to do,' said the latter. 'Go to this
Count Leven and tell him it's a cash transaction or nothing, and that
he runs no risk. Find out what he'll really take, but don't come
talking to me about five thousand pounds or anything of that kind, for
that's ridiculous. Tell him that if proceedings are not begun by the
first of May his wife won't get any more money from Van Torp, and he
won't get any more from his wife. Use any other argument that strikes
you. That's your business, because that's what I pay you for. What I
want is the result, and that's justice and no more, and I don't care
anything about the means. Find them and I'll pay. If you can't find
them I'll pay somebody who can, and if nobody can I'll go to the end
without. Do you understand?'

'Oh, I understand right enough,' answered Feist, with his bad smile.'
If I can hit on the right scheme I won't ask you anything extra
for it, Mr. Bamberger! By the bye, I wrote you I met Cordova, the
Primadonna, at the Turkish Embassy, didn't I? She hates him as much
as the other woman likes him, yet she and the other have struck up a
friendship. I daresay I shall get something out of that too.'

'Why does Cordova hate him?' asked Bamberger.

'Don't quite know. Thought perhaps you might.'

'No.'

'He was attentive to her last winter,' Feist said. 'That's all I know
for certain. He's a brutal sort of man, and maybe he offended her
somehow.'

'Well,' returned Isidore Bamberger, 'maybe; but singers aren't often
offended by men who have money. At least, I've always understo