The Angels Weep - Smith Wilbur (чтение книг txt) 📗
"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "The hotel is full." "Who is in the Blue Diamond suite? "Ralph asked affably. "Sir Randolph Charles," the clerk's voice was filled with reverence.
"Get him out, "said Ralph.
"I beg your pardon?" the clerk reared back, and his expression was frosty. Ralph reached across the desk, and took him by his watered silk cravat, and drew him closer.
"Get him out of my suite," Ralph repeated, his lips an inch from the man's ear. "Quickly!" It was at that moment that the day clerk came into the reception office.
"Mr. Ballantyne," he cried with a mixture of alarm and feigned pleasure as he rushed to the rescue of his colleague. "Your permanent suite will be ready in a minute." Then he hissed in the night clerk's other ear. "Clear that suite immediately, or he'll do it for you." The Blue Diamond had one of the very few bathrooms in Kimberley with laid-on hot water. Two black servants stoked the boiler outside the window to keep steam whistling from the valve while Ralph lay chin-deep and adjusted a trickle of scalding water with his big toe on the tap.
At the same time he shaved his jaws with a straight razor, working by touch and scorning the mirror. The day clerk had supervised the removal of Ralph's steamer trunk from the box-room, and hovered over the valets as they pressed the suits and tried to improve upon the perfect shine of the boots that they unpacked from the trunk.
At five minutes before noon, Ralph, smelling of brilliantine and eau de Cologne, marched into Aaron Fagan's office. Aaron was a thin stooped man, with threadbare hair brushed straight back from a deep intellectual forehead. His nose was beaked, his mouth full and sensitive and his sloe-eyes aware and bright.
He played a cruel game of kalabriasz, giving no quarter, and yet there was a compassionate streak in his nature which Ralph valued as highly as any of his other qualities. If he had known what Ralph intended at this moment, he would have tried to dissuade him, but after having put the case against it, he would then have gone ahead and drawn up a contract as mercilessly as he would have elevated his jasz and men el for a winning coup at kalabriasz.
Ralph didn't have time to argue ethics with him now, so as they embraced and patted each other's shoulder blades affectionately, he forestalled the question by asking. "Are they here?" and then pushing open the door to the inner office.
Roelof and Doel Zeederberg did not rise as he entered and neither they nor Ralph made any attempt to shake hands. They had clashed viciously, but indecisively, on too many occasions.
"So, Ballantyne, you want to waste our time again?" Roelof's accent was still thick with his Swedish ancestry, but under his pale ginger brows, his eyes were quick with interest.
"My dear Roelof," Ralph protested, "I would never do that. All I want is that we should resolve this tariff on the new Matabeleland route before we put each other out of business." "JaP Doel agreed sarcastically. "That's a good thought, like my mother-in-law should love me." "We are willing to listen, for a few minutes anyway." Roelofs tone was casual, but his interest was quicker still. "One of us should buy the other out, and set his own tarifts," said Ralph blandly, and the brothers glanced at each other involuntarily. Roelof made a fuss of relighting his dead cigar to hide his astonishment.
"You are asking yourselves why?" Ralph said. "You want to know why Ralph Ballantyne wants to sell out." Neither brother denied it, they waited quietly as vultures in the treetops.
"The truth is this, I have over-extended myself in Matabeleland.
The Harkness Mine-" The lines of tension around Roelofs mouth smoothed out. They had heard about the mine, the talk on the Johannesburg stock exchange floor was that it would cost 50,000 pounds to bring it into production.
"I am behind on the railway contract for Mr. Rhodes," Ralph went on quietly and seriously. "I need cash." "You had a figure in mind?"
Roelof asked, and took a puff on the cigar.
Ralph nodded and gave it to him, and Roelof choked on his smoke.
His brother pounded him between his shoulders until he regained his breath, and then Roelof chuckled and shook his head.
"Ja,"he said. "That's good. That's a very good one." "It looks as though you were right," Ralph agreed. "I am wasting your time." He pushed back his chair and stood up.
"Sit down." Roelof stopped laughing. "Sit down and let's talk," he said briskly, and by the following noon Aaron Fagan had drawn up the contract in his own hand.
It was very simple. The purchasers accepted the attached statement of assets as complete and correct. They agreed to take over all existing contracts of carriage and the responsibility of all goods at present in transit. The seller gave no guarantees. The purchase price was in cash, no share transfers were involved, and the effective date was that of the signatures walk out, walk in.
They signed in the presence of their attorneys, and then both parties, accompanied by their legal counsellors, crossed the street to the main branch of the Dominion Colonial and Overseas Bank where the cheque of Zeederberg Bros was presented and duly honoured by the manager. Ralph swept the bundles of five-pound notes into his carpet bag, tipped his hat to the brothers Zeederberg.
"Good luck to you, gentlemen," and then he took Aaron Fagan's arm and led him in the direction of Diamond Lil's Hotel.
Roelof Zeederberg massaged the bald spot on his crown. "I suddenly have this strange feeling," he murmured uneasily as he watched them go.
The next morning, Ralph left Aaron Fagan at the door of his office.
"You'll be hearing from the good brothers Zeederberg again sooner than you expect," he warned him affably. "Try not to bother me with their accusations, there's a good fellow." He sauntered away across the Market Square, leaving Aaron staring after him thoughtfully.
