House of All Nations Read Online Free PDF Page A

called up. Did she use the crystal, too? I don’t believe in them unless they can do that. Did you ask her about stocks and currencies? Did you ask her about the pound and the dollar? I suppose nothing on that—they’re worthless for exact figures—’ He drooped. ‘Who knows if they’re not just police agents? They don’t seem to know much else.’
    Marianne recited, ‘What is secret will be found out within the twelvemonth.’
    Irritably Aristide knocked on the cab window saying, ‘Can I sell or buy the market tomorrow on information like that?’
    Marianne smiled a little, her self-reliant conceited smile. ‘She said you would lose old friends and make new enemies.’
    â€˜You pay the taxi,’ said Aristide. ‘I have no change.’
    â€˜Neither have I: I’m just going in to cash a check.’
    Raccamond paid, giving twenty-five centimes for a tip. The chauffeur looked up at the bronze doors of the bank, standing inwards. On each leaf shone Mercury’s staff, in bronze. The chauffeur spat.
    * * *
    Scene Two: A Check Technique
    O n one side of the doorway was a brass plate with the name Banque Mercure and on the other side, facing it, the name Bertillon & Cie. s.a.
    A woman went into the bank before Aristide. He plunged forward, bowed: ‘Good day, Princesse.’ She smiled cozily, went in chatting. Raccamond followed doggedly. Marianne restrained him in the square entrance and murmured, ‘Who is it? Tell me please, Aristide.’
    â€˜Princess Delisle-Delbe,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve taken over her account. Let me go, Marianne: I must go.’
    He unhanded himself and fled after the Napoleonic Princesse, a young widow with a large estate who put plenty of money into the American and English markets. He intercepted her before Urbain Voulou, the elephantine, smiling blond chief customers’ man of the bank, had reached her. The three stood together a little while, until Aristide with his dark atmosphere of earnest insistence drew her eyes away from the smile of Voulou; and Voulou, saying, with good sad simplicity, ‘Things don’t look too good, Princesse: I think things are going down, Princesse,’ withdrew.
    Aristide went on as if Voulou had never been there, ‘The figures for the first two months of 1931 show a decline in trade: an increase in tariffs is sure. Mr. Alphendéry, our technician, you know, thinks you should sell about half of your long position in U.S. Steel and Air Liquide. He says he calculates Air Liquide will lose eventually about one-third of its value. There are queer rumors from the U.S.A. The banking situation is bad. We recommend selling short rather than buying.’
    The Princesse, settling the pretty little black hat on her black hair, said, ‘Is that Mr. Bertillon’s opinion? I think Mr. Jules Bertillon is a genius in markets. Is he in?’
    â€˜Not yet, Madame. Yes, I believe that is his opinion. He and Mr. Alphendéry are generally of the same opinion.’
    â€˜I just want to sell a foreign check,’ smiled the Princesse, dismissing him. ‘Will you see if Mr. Bertillon is in?’
    â€˜The telephone, Mr. Raccamond,’ said Jacques Manray, the stock-exchange clerk, respectfully.
    On the telephone. Aristide heard, ‘Aristide! Are you and Marianne coming out with me tonight? Sure? All right. I’ll be round. H’m. I put off the business dinner. Is—is Bertillon there now? I’m coming round.’
    In ten minutes Aristide heard a garble of laughter in the quiet green murmuring entrance hall. Somehow Michel Alphendéry had got downstairs and introduced himself to Henri Léon. They had got on to Spain. Léon, as usual: ‘Because I have confidence: I believe in Spain—don’t you think that counts, eh? Don’t you think that counts? I don’t mind doing business in the country of Garcia or Hernandez: that