“But Count Bernstorff’s young man does nothing of the kind.  He is one too many for the old fox.  He does not wait for him.  He runs away, after displaying unusual determination in dealing with a prying Englander—­whose fate should be a lesson to all who interfere in other people’s business—­and goes to Germany, leaving poor old Clubfoot in the lurch.  You must admit, Herr Doktor, that I have been hardly used—­by yourself as well as by another person?”

My throat was dry with anxiety.  What did the man mean by his veiled allusions to “all who interfere in other people’s business?”

I cleared my throat to speak.

Clubfoot raised a great hand in deprecation.

“No explanation, Herr Doktor, I beg” (his tone was perfectly unconcerned and friendly), “let me have my say.  When I found out that you had left Rotterdam—­by the way, you must let me congratulate you on the remarkable fertility of resource you displayed in quitting Frau Schratt’s hospitable house—­when I found you were gone, I sat down and thought things out.

“I reflected that an astute American like yourself (believe me, you are very astute) would probably be accustomed to look at everything from the business standpoint.  ’I will also consider the matter from the business standpoint,’ I said to myself, and I decided that, in your place, I too would not be content to accept, as sole payment for the danger of my mission, the scarcely generous compensation that Count Bernstorff allots to his collaborators.  No, I should wish to secure a little renown for myself, or, were that not possible, then some monetary gain proportionate with the risks I had run.  You see, I have been at pains to put myself wholly in your place.  I hope I have not said anything tactless.  If so, I can at least acquit myself of any desire to offend.”

“On the contrary, Herr Doktor,” I replied, “you are the model of tact and diplomacy.”

His eyes narrowed a little at this.  I thought he wouldn’t like that word “diplomacy.”

“Another glass of wine?  You may safely venture; there is not a headache in a bottle of it.  Well, Herr Doktor, since you have followed me so patiently thus far, I will go further.  I told you, when I first saw you this evening, that I was delighted at our meeting.  That was no mere banality, but the sober truth.  For, you see, I am the very person with whom, in the circumstances, you would wish to get in touch.  Deprived of the honour, rightly belonging to me, of undertaking this mission single-handed and of fulfilling it alone, I find that you can enable me to carry out the mission to a successful conclusion, whilst I, for my part, am able and willing to recompense your services as they deserve and not according to Bernstorff’s starvation scale.

“To make a long story short, Herr Doktor ... how much?”