Jimgrim and a Secret Society. Talbot Mundy

man’s a fool who risks his savings. I’d like a partnership with you and Grim, if you’ve a prospect; but we ought to be able to work it without staking both capital and energy. There are lots of men with capital.”

      “Not in Egypt,” said Jeremy. “All they’ll buy here is manicure sets and big expensive cars. We’re selling guts and gumption. We’d find ten Gyppies in five minutes to stake money for a crooked deal, but—”

      “Suppose you argue a while with Grim,” I answered. “I’ll go talk with Meldrum Strange.”

      “Who the Hell’s Meldrum?”

      “One of the nine richest men in the world. I made a million for him once. Wherever Meldrum Strange is, something’s doing. He’s on the level, but a durned hard nut.”

      “Go crack him!” answered Jeremy. “I’ll stay here and comb Jim out of the army like a louse out of a dog’s hair. So long.”

      CHAPTER II

      “We three now haven’t a parasite between us.”

      I sat down beside Meldrum Strange without saying anything and it wasn’t until the chair creaked under my weight that he laid the newspaper down.

      “Oh, hello,” he said then.

      “Hello yourself,” said I. “How’s business?”

      “I’ve gone out of business.”

      I looked hard at him and he at me. He was good to look at, with a face carved out of granite and a neat black beard. There was a suggestion of Ulysses Grant, with the same look of good humor balancing an iron will.

      “I’ve come all the way from the States to see you,” he said.

      “Nothing else?”

      “Just that,” he answered, biting the end of a dark cigar.

      “I don’t believe you,” I answered, “but I’ll smoke while you elaborate the fiction.”

      “You’re going out of business too,” he said, passing me his leather case.

      “I did that during the first year of the War,” I answered. “Cleaned up in Abyssinia and quit for keeps.”

      “Uh. Who was behind that Abyssinian thing? You put it up to me. Cohn and Campbell fell, didn’t they? Make anything?”

      “Three times what they put in.”

      “Uh. What did you get?”

      “Enough,” I answered.

      He nodded and began chewing his cigar.

      “Well,” he said presently, “I heard you were wandering in these parts. Tried to reach you by cable, but you’d left no address.”

      “Any banker out here would have delivered a message sooner or later,” I answered, puzzled. I’m not used to being in such demand.

      “I daresay. Nothing to keep me in Chicago. Came to look for you—P & O from Marseilles. Saw your name on the hotel register.”

      “Did you ask for me?”

      “No. No hurry. Met some people. Up at Government House. Seems you’ve been trying your hand at international politics?”

      “I’ve a friend who was interested. Helped him,” I said.

      “Did you like it?” he asked suddenly, looking sharply at me.

      “You bet! We spiked a crooked game and pulled a good man out of a tight place.”

      “I’m in that game nowadays,” he said.

      He took hold of his chin in his left hand and eyed me steadily.

      “Can you afford to be independent?”

      I nodded.

      “Got enough, eh? Good. Couldn’t use a man who thought he needed money badly.”

      “What’s eating you?” I asked. “The only time I handled your dollars you had me bonded.”

      “Couldn’t get a bond to cover this. Need a man used to acting on his own responsibility, not given to talking—be depended on to keep important secrets—act coolly in emergency—knows the world in the widest sense—willing to have no other ambition than to unknot the international snarls. You’ll fill the bill.”

      “You’re wrong,” I said. “My gifts are mechanical. You need a man with brains for a job like that. James Schuyler Grim is the man for you.”

      “Ah. Now let me see; they mentioned Grim—Major Grim, isn’t he? American? Um-m-m. What do you know of him?”

      “How d’you rate my opinion?”

      “Ace-high, or I wouldn’t have gone to this trouble to find you.”

      “I rate Grim ace-high plus, or I wouldn’t have gone to Damascus with him on any such risky business,” I answered.

      “What else can you say for him?”

      “The British Government thought highly enough of him to keep him in their Intelligence Department, while they were retrenching in every direction.”

      “Expects the sack now, does he?”

      “Jeremy is trying to persuade him to resign.”

      “Who’s Jeremy?”

      “Jeremy Ross—Australian. Knows Arabic as well as Grim does. Kidnaped in the War and carried off into the heart of Arabia. Made good. Escaped—gathered a following—led them the whole length of Arabia—discovered a gold-mine—worked it—dollied out more than two thousand pounds—made himself a power in the land—and was finally rescued by Grim and me with the help of Narayan Singh and some Arabs. Made a present of his mine to Feisul the other day, as a private contribution to the Arab cause.”

      “Um-m-m. Mine any good?”

      “Best I ever saw.”

      “Gave it to the Arabs, eh? Who’s Narayan Singh?”

      “Sikh. Friend of Grim’s. Sepoy in the British Army. On a bat just now—discouraged.”

      “Broke?”

      “Not while I’ve a nickel left.”

      “How long have you been acting banker to broken men?” Meldrum Strange demanded, looking at me curiously.

      “Nothing to it,” I answered. “But I’ll back a good man when he’s down the same way you helped the market in the 1907 panic. Maybe it’ll pay me, same as buying stocks paid you. If it don’t I’ll take my loss, and you won’t be any the wiser, Meldrum Strange.”

      “Extraordinary!” he said. “Most extraordinary! World full of coincidences. Time was I’d have doubted this. Looks too good.”

      “Same here,” I said. “Few things fit without blacksmith-work and blasting. Study this right carefully before you submit proposals. We’d hate to let you down.”

      “ ‘We?’ ” he asked.

      “All or none,” I said. “When you showed up we were just beginning to talk partnership.”

      “Those your two friends opposite?”

      He sat and looked at them for several minutes.

      “The one with his back turned is Ross, I take it, and the other Grim?” he said at last. “You vouch for both of them, eh? I’m inclined to think you may be right.”

      He sat for five more minutes saying nothing, chewing steadily at the stump of his cigar, and every now and then casting a sidewise glance at me. At last he threw away the cigar with a gesture that meant he had made his mind up.

      “Anyhow,” he said, “men like you are scarce.