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wits.

IV

It was Robbie Budd who had sought this interview, and he who would have to say what he had

come for. Zaharoff, while waiting, would be gravely interested in what Robbie had to tell about

the state of Wall Street and the great American financial world. The visitor was optimistic, sure

that the clouds would soon blow over. Lanny knew that his father really believed that, but

would Zaharoff believe that he believed it? No, the Greek would think that Robbie, having

something to sell, was playing the optimist. Zaharoff, the prospective buyer, was a pessimist.

At last Robbie saw fit to get down to business. He explained that his father was very old, and

the cares of the Budd enterprise might soon be on Robbie's shoulders. Budd's was largely out

of munitions; it was making everything from needles to freight elevators. Robbie would no longer

be in a position to travel—in short, he and his friends were looking for someone to take the New

England-Arabian shares off their hands at a reasonable figure.

There it was; and Zaharoff's pessimism assumed the hues of the nethermost stage of Dante's

inferno. The world was in a most horrible state; the Arabians were on the point of declaring a

jihad and wiping out every European on their vast desolate hot peninsula; Zaharoff himself

was a feeble old man, his doctors had given him final warning, he must avoid every sort of

responsibility and strain —in short, he couldn't buy anything, and didn't have the cash

anyhow.

A flat turn-down; but Lanny had heard a Levantine trader talk, and knew that Zaharoff's real

purpose and desire would not be revealed until the last minute, when his two guests had their

hats in their hands, perhaps when they were outside the front door. Meanwhile they mustn't

show that they knew this; they mustn't betray disappointment; they must go on chatting, as if

it didn't really mean very much to them, as if Robbie Budd had crossed the ocean to have one

more look at Zaharoff's blue eyes, or perhaps at his very fine Ingres.

It was time for Lanny to mention the paintings, which he had been invited to inspect. He

asked if he might stroll about the room, and the Knight Commander and Grand Officer rose

from his seat and strolled with him, pointing out various details. Lanny said: "You know I am

interested in the value of paintings, that being my business." The remark gave no offense; quite

the contrary. The old man told the prices, which he had at his fingertips: a hundred thousand

francs for this Fragonard, a hundred and fifty thousand for that David. "Before-the-war

francs," he added.

They went into the great library, a magnificent room with a balcony all around it, having

heavy bronze railings. Then they inspected the dining-room, in which was a startling Goya, the

portrait of an abnormally tall and thin Spanish gentleman wearing brilliant-colored silks with

much lace and jewelry. "An ancestor of my wife," remarked the old man. "She didn't care for

it much; she found it cynical."

An opening which Lanny had been waiting for. "By the way, Sir Basil, here is something

which might interest you. Have you ever tried any experiments with mediums?"

"Spiritualist mediums, you mean? Why do you ask?"

"Because of something" strange which has been happening in our family. My stepfather

interested my mother in the subject, and in New York they found a Polish woman with whom

they held seances, and she gave them such convincing results that we brought her to the Riviera

with us, and she has become a sort of member of our family."

"You think she brings you messages from—" The old man stopped, as if hesitating to say "the

dead."

"We get innumerable messages from what claim to be spirits, and they tell us things which

astonish us, because we cannot see how this old and poorly educated Polish woman can possibly

have had any means of finding them out."

"There is a vast system of fraud of that sort, I have been told," said the cautious Greek.

"I know, Sir Basil; and if this were an alert-minded woman, I might think it possible. But

she is dull and quite unenterprising. How could she possibly have known that the duquesa was

fond of tulips, and the names of the varieties she showed me?"

"What?" exclaimed the host.

"She mentioned the names Bybloem and Bizarre, and spoke of Turkestan, though she didn't get

it as the name of a tulip. She even gave me a very good description of the garden of your town

house, and the number "fifty-three. She was trying to get Avenue Hoche, but could only get the

H."

Lanny had never before seen this cautious old man reveal such emotion. Evidently a secret

spring had been touched. "Sit down," he said, and they took three of the dining-room chairs.

"Is this really true, Lanny?"

"Indeed it is. I have the records of a hundred or more sittings."

"This concerns me deeply, because of late years I have had very strange feelings, as if my wife

was in the room and trying to communicate with me. I have told myself that it could only be

the product of my own grief and loneliness. I don't need to tell you how I felt about her."

"No, Sir Basil, I have always understood; the little I saw of her was enough to convince me

that she was a lovely person."

"Six years have passed, and my sorrow has never diminished. Tell me—where is this Polish

woman?" When Lanny explained about the yacht, he wanted to know: "Do you suppose it

would be possible for me to have a séance with her?"

"It could be arranged some time, without doubt. We should be deeply interested in the

results."

V

For half an hour or more the rich but unhappy old man sat asking questions about Madame

Zyszynski and her procedure. Lanny explained the curious obligation of pretending to believe

in an Iroquois Indian chieftain who spoke with a Polish accent. No easy matter for an

intellectual person to take such a thing seriously; but Lanny told about a lady who had been

his amie for many years prior to her death; she had sent him messages, including little details

such as two lovers remember, but which would have no meaning for others: the red-and-white-

striped jacket of the servant who attended them in the inn where they had spent their first

night, the pear and apricot trees against the walls of the lady's garden. Such things might have

come out of Lanny's subconscious mind, but even so, it was a curious experience to have

somebody dig them up.

"I would like very much to try the experiment," said Zaharoff. "When do you think it could

be arranged?"

"I will have to consult my mother and my stepfather. The yacht is on the way from Cannes to

Bremen, and the plan is to go from there to America and return in the autumn. If you go to

Monte Carlo next winter, we could bring Madame over to you."

"That is a long time to wait. Would it not be possible for me to bring her here for at least a

trial? Perhaps the yacht may be stopping in the Channel?"

"We expect to stop on the English coast, perhaps at Portsmouth or Dover."

"If so, I would gladly send someone to England to bring her to me. I would expect to pay her,

you understand."

"There is no need of that. We are taking care of her, and she is satisfied, so it would be better

not to raise the question."

"This might mean a great deal to me, Lanny. If I thought that I was in contact with my

wife, and that I had some chance of seeing her again, it would give me more happiness than

anything I can think of." There was a pause, as if a retired munitions king needed a violent