“My dear fellow, we have deposits of that stuff that would make a fortune if we could get the machinery to get at it.  Why, sir, there is lapis lazuli enough on our claim to make enough ultramarine paint to supply all the artists to the end of the world.  Actually we could afford to crush it up and sell it as paint.  And that is merely incidental to the other things on the concession.  The asphalt’s the thing.  That’s where the big money is.  When we get started, sir, the old asphalt trust will simply melt away, melt away.”

He blew a cloud of tobacco smoke and let it dissolve significantly in the air.

When it came to talking about the suits, however, Vanderdyke was not so communicative as Mrs. Ralston, but he was also not so bitter against either the post-office or Templeton.

“Poor Templeton,” he said.  “I used to know him years ago when we were boys.  Went to school with him and all that sort of thing, you know, but until I ran across him, or rather he ran across me, in this investigation I hadn’t heard much about him.  Pretty clever fellow he was, too.  The state will miss him, but my lawyer tells me that we should have won the suit anyhow, even if that unfortunate tragedy hadn’t occurred.  Most unaccountable, wasn’t it?  I’ve read about it in the papers for old time’s sake, and can make nothing out of it.”

I said nothing, but wondered how he could pass so lightheartedly over the death of the woman who had once been his wife.  However, I said nothing.  The result was he launched forth again on the riches of his Venezuelan concession and loaded me down with “literature,” which I crammed into my pocket for future reference.

My next step was to drop into the office of a Spanish-America paper whose editor was especially well informed on South American affairs.

“Do I know Mrs. Ralston?” he repeated, thoughtfully lighting one of those black cigarettes that look so vicious and are so mild.  “I should say so.  I’ll tell you a little story about her.  Three or four years ago she turned up in Caracas.  I don’t know who Mr. Ralston was—­perhaps there never was any Mr. Ralston.  Anyhow, she got in with the official circle of the Castro government and was very successful as an adventuress.  She has considerable business ability and represented a certain group of Americans.  But, if you recall, when Castro was eliminated pretty nearly everyone who had stood high with him went, too.  It seems that a number of the old concessionaires played the game on both sides.  This particular group had a man named Vanderdyke on the anti-Castro side.  So, when Mrs. Ralston went, she just quietly sailed by way of Panama to the other side of the continent, to Peru—­they paid her well—­and Vanderdyke took the title role.

“Oh, yes, she and Vanderdyke were very good friends, very, indeed.  I think they must have known each other here in the States.  Still they played their parts well at the time.  Since things have settled down in Venezuela, the concessionaires have found no further use for Vanderdyke either, and here they are, Vanderdyke and Mrs. Ralston, both in New York now, with two of the most outrageous schemes of financing ever seen on Broad Street.  They have offices in the same building, they are together a great deal, and now I hear that the state attorney-general is after both of them.”