But there's a
vacancy in our ranks, the opening left by the death of de Lorgnes, an
opening that nobody could hope to fill so well as you. So we put it up
to you squarely: If you'll sign on and work with us, we'll turn over to
you a round fifth share of the profits of this voyage as well as
everything that comes after. That's fair enough, isn't it?"
"But more than fair, monsieur."
"Well, it's true you've done nothing to earn a fifth interest in the
first division..."
"Then, too, I am here, quite helpless in your hands."
"Oh, we don't look at it that way----"
"Which," Liane sweetly interrupted, "is the one rational gesture you
have yet offered in this conference, Monsieur Phinuit."
"Meaning, I suppose, Mr. Lanyard is far from being what he says,
helpless in our hands."
"Nor ever will be, my poor friend, while he breathes and thinks."
"But, Liane!" Lanyard deprecated, modestly casting down his eyes--"you
overwhelm me."
"I don't believe you," Liane retorted coolly.
For some moments Lanyard continued to stare reflectively at his feet.
Nothing whatever of his thought was to be gathered from his
countenance, though eyes more shrewd to read than those of Phinuit or
Monk were watching it intently.
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