Пользователь - WORLD'S END

Persons came into the hotel, and others departed; Lanny watched them all. Some took seats and chatted, and Lanny tried to hear what they were saying; from now on he was surrounded by intrigues, and any chance phrase might reveal something. Two ladies sat near him, and talked about the races, and about a skirt cut in the new fashion, with slits on the side. They were shallow creatures, heedless of the undeclared war now going on in Europe, Lanny got up and moved to another chair.

Presently came a sight which he had been expecting. Through the revolving glass doors of the entrance strode a large figure in a voluminous black frock coat, with a black silk tower on his head. The doorman in gorgeous uniform was revolving the doors for him, lest he have to make even that much effort with his hands. The bellhops leaped to attention, the clerk stood like a statue of gentility, the conversation in the lobby fell to whispers, the whole world was in suspense as the munitions king strode down the pathway of red velvet, smelling his way with his prominent hooked nose.

He stopped at the desk. Lanny was too far away to hear a word that was spoken, but he could understand the pantomime just as well. The clerk turned and took a letter from a pigeonhole and handed it to the great man with a respectful bow and murmur. The great man looked at it, then handed it back to the clerk. The clerk looked at it and registered surprise. He turned hastily and began taking other letters from pigeonholes and looking at them. Finally he turned to the great man with more bows and murmurings. The great man stalked to the lift and disappeared.

IX

Robbie came at last; and Lanny said quickly: "Something has happened. I want to tell you about it." They went up to the room, and Lanny looked around, to be sure they were alone. "Here's a letter for Zaharoff," he said, and held it out to his father.

The other was puzzled. "How did you get it?"

"I took it out of his box downstairs. Nobody saw me."

Even before the father said a word, almost before he had time to comprehend the idea, Lanny knew that he shouldn't have done it; he wished he hadn't done it.

"You mean," said Robbie, "you stole this from the hotel desk?"

"Well, Robbie, he stole your papers, and I thought this might refer to them."

Robbie was looking at his son as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was hearing. It was most uncomfortable for Lanny, and the blood began burning in his cheeks. "Whatever put that into your head, son?"

"You did, Robbie. You said you would fight the old devil with his own Greek fire."

"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 re-

lieved 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.