He walked down the room and stopped opposite the ancient marble, staring at it--"Not Venus, I think," he said, with a laugh, "Venus never made any man rich." He turned and retraced his steps to the other end of the room, which was veiled in shadow. Here upon a second marble pedestal stood an object that gleamed dimly through the gloom. It was about ten inches or a foot high, but in that place nothing more could be seen of it, except that it was yellow and had the general appearance of a toad. For some reason it seemed to attract Sir Robert Aylward, for he halted to stare at it, then stretched out his hand and switched on another lamp, in the hard brilliance of which the thing upon the pedestal suddenly declared itself, leaping out of the darkness into light. It was a terrible object, a monstrosity of indeterminate sex and nature, but surmounted by a woman's head and face of extraordinary, if devilish loveliness, sunk back between high but grotesquely small shoulders, like to those of a lizard, so that it glared upwards. The workmanship of the thing was rude yet strangely powerful. Whatever there is cruel, whatever there is devilish, whatever there is inhuman in the dark places of the world, shone out of the jewelled eyes which were set in that yellow female face, yellow because its substance was of gold, a face which seemed not to belong to the embryonic legs beneath, for body there was none, but to float above them. A hollow, life-sized mask with two tiny frog-like legs, that was the fashion of it.
"You are an ugly brute," muttered Sir Robert, contemplating this effigy, "but although I believe in nothing in heaven above or earth below, except the abysmal folly of the British public, I am bothered if I don't believe in you. At any rate from the day when Vernon brought you into my office, my luck turned, and to judge from the smile on your sweet countenance, I don't think it is done with yet. I wonder what those stones are in your eyes. Opals, I suppose, from the way they change colour. They shine uncommonly to-day, I never remember them so bright. I----"
At this moment a knock came on the door. Sir Robert turned off the lamp and walked back to the fireplace.
"Come in," he said, and as he spoke once more his pale face grew impassive and expressionless.
The door opened and a clerk entered, an imposing-looking clerk with iron-grey hair, who wore an irreproachable frock coat and patent leather boots. Advancing to his master, he stood respectfully silent, waiting to be addressed. For quite a long while Sir Robert looked over his head as though he did not see him; it was a way of his. Then his eyes rested on the man dreamily and he remarked in his cold, clear voice:
"I don't think I rang, Jeffreys."
"No, Sir Robert," answered the clerk, bowing as though he spoke to Royalty, "but there is a little matter about that article in /The Cynic/."
"Press business," said Sir Robert, lifting his eyebrows; "you should know by this time that I do not attend to such details. See Mr.
Champers-Haswell, or Major Vernon."
"They are both out at the moment, Sir Robert."
"Go on, then, Jeffreys," replied the head of the firm with a resigned sigh, "only be brief. I am thinking."
The clerk bowed again.
"The /Cynic/ people have just telephoned through about that article we sent them. I think you saw it, sir, and you may remember it begins----" and he read from a typewritten copy in his hand which was headed "Sahara Limited":
"'We are now privileged to announce that this mighty scheme which will turn a desert into a rolling sea bearing the commerce of nations and cause the waste places of the earth to teem with population and to blossom like the rose, has been completed in its necessary if dull financial details and will within a few days be submitted to investors among whom it has already caused so much excitement. These details we will deal with fully in succeeding articles, and therefore now need only pause to say that the basis of capitalization strikes us as wonderfully advantageous to the fortunate public who are asked to participate in its vast prospective prosperity. Our present object is to speak of its national and imperial aspects----'"
Sir Robert lifted his eyes in remonstrance:
"How much more of that exceedingly dull and commonplace puff do you propose to read, Jeffreys?" he asked.
"No more, Sir Robert. We are paying /The Cynic/ thirty guineas to insert this article, and the point is that they say that if they have to put in the 'national and imperial' business they must have twenty more."
"Indeed, Jeffreys? Why?"
"Because, Sir Robert--I will tell you, as you always like to hear the truth--their advertisement-editor is of opinion that Sahara Limited is a national and imperial swindle. He says that he won't drag the nation and the empire into it in an editorial under fifty guineas."
A faint smile flickered on Sir Robert's face.
"Does he, indeed?" he asked. "I wonder at his moderation. Had I been in his place I should have asked more, for really the style is a little flamboyant. Well, we don't want to quarrel with them just now-- feed the sharks. But surely, Jeffreys, you didn't come to disturb me about such a trifle?"
"Not altogether, Sir Robert. There is something more important. /The Daily Judge/ not only declines to put any article whatsoever, but refuses our advertisement, and states that it means to criticize the prospectus trenchantly."
"Ah!" said his master after a moment's thought, "that /is/ rather serious, since people believe in the /Judge/ even when it is wrong.
Offer them the advertisement at treble rates."
"It has been done, sir, and they still refuse."
Sir Robert walked to the corner of the room where the yellow object squatted on its pedestal, and contemplated it a while, as a man often studies one thing when he is thinking of another. It seemed to give him an idea, for he looked over his shoulder and said:
"That will do, Jeffreys. When Major Vernon comes in, give him my compliments and say that I should be obliged by a word or two with him."
