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.Page 69ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe was in the same position three hours later when his secretary knocked onthe door and entered with a buff envelope."Another cable, Mr.Campard."He extracted the flimsy and reached out a nerveless hand for the code book.Hedecoded:Maduro armies advancing into Pasala.Only chance now sell any price.Answerinquiry.Man arrived nearly four months ago--With a sudden impatience, Campard tore the cablegram into a hundred pieces anddropped them into the waste-paper basket.There was no time now to get intouch with the Saint.The damage was done.A few minutes later came the anticipated message from the firm that he hadinduced to back him over Pasala Oil Products.Rich as he had become, he wouldnever have been able to acquire his large holding in the company withoutassistance.How, with his reputation, he had got any firm to back him was amystery.But he had been able to do it on the system known as "margins"-which,in this instance, meant roughly that he could be called upon immediately toproduce fifty percent of the amount by which the shares had depreciated, inorder to "keep up his margin."The demand, courteously but peremptorily worded, was delivered by specialmessenger; and his only surprise was that it had not come sooner.He scribbleda check, which there was no money in the bank to meet, and sent it back by thesame boy.He sent for his car and left the office shortly afterwards.The paper which hebought outside told of the panic of P.O.P's, and he read the article with akind of morbid interest.There was a letter, delivered by the afternoon post, waiting at his house whenhe got back.I sold P.O.P.s and covered to-day.The profits are nearly twelve thousandpounds.The expenses of this campaign have been unusually heavy; but, even then, afterdeducting these and my ten percent collecting fee, I hope to be able toforward nine thousand pounds to charity on your behalf.Received the above-named sum-with thanks.The Saint.Enclosed was a familiar card, and one Pasala Oil Products share certificate.Hugo Campard dined well that night, and, alone, accounted for a bottle ofchampagne.After that he smoked a cigar with relish, and drank a liqueurbrandy with enjoyment.He had dressed.He felt the occasion deserved it.His mind was clear anduntroubled, for in a flash he had seen the way out of the trap.When his cigar was finished, he exchanged his coat for a dressing gown, andpassed into his study.He locked the door behind him, and for some time pacedup and down the room in silence, but no one will ever know what he thought.Atten o'clock precisely the pacing stopped.Page 70ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThe constable on guard outside heard the shot; but Hugo Campard did not hearit.7The men serving sentences of hard labour in the prison of Santa Miranda areallowed an afternoon siesta of three hours.This is not due to the humanityand loving-kindness of the authorities, but to the fact that nothing willinduce the warders to forgo the afternoon nap which is the custom of thecountry, and no one has yet discovered a way of making the prisoners workwithout a wide-awake warder to watch them and pounce on the shirkers.The fetters are struck off the prisoners' ankles, and they are herded intotheir cells, a dozen in each, and there locked up to rest as well as they canin the stifling heat of a room ventilated only by one small barred window andthickly populated with flies.The warders retire to their quarters above theprison, and one jailer is left on guard, nodding in the passage outside thecells, with a rifle across his knees.It was so on the third day of the Saint's incarceration, and this was thesecond hour of the siesta, but the Saint had not slept.His cell mates were sprawled on the bunks or on the floor, snoring heavily.They were hardened to the flies.Outside, the jailer dozed, his sombrero onthe back of his head and his coat unbuttoned.Through the window of the cell ashaft of burning sunlight cut across the moist gloom and splashed a square oflight on the opposite wall.The Saint sat by the gates of the cell, watching that creeping square oflight.Each afternoon he had.watched it, learning its habits, so that now hecould tell the time by it.When the edge of the square touched a certain scarin the stone it was four o'clock.That was the time he had decided upon.He scrambled softly to his feet.The jailer's head nodded lower and lower.Every afternoon, the Saint hadnoted, he set his chair at a certain point in the passage where a cool draughtfrom a cross-corridor would fan him.Therefore, on that afternoon, the Sainthad taken pains to get into the nearest cell to that point.He tore a button off his clothes, and threw it.It hit the jailer on thecheek, and the man stirred and grunted.The Saint threw another button.Theman shook his head, snorted, and roused, stretching his arms with a prodigiousyawn."Senor!" hissed the Saint.The man turned his head."Loathsome disease," he growled, "why dost thou disturb my meditations? Liedown and be silent, lest I come and beat thee.""I only wished to ask your honour if I might give your honour a present offifty pesos," said the Saint humbly.He squatted down again by the bars of the gate and played with a piece ofstraw.Minutes passed.He heard the jailer get to his feet, but did not look up.The man's footstepsPage 71ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlgrated on the floor and stopped by the cell door.In the cell the otherconvicts snored peacefully."Eater of filth and decomposing fish," said the jailer's voice gruffly, "did Ihear thy coarse lips speak to me of fifty pesos? How hast thou come by thatmoney?""Gifts break rocks," replied the pe¢n, quoting the Spanish proverb [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]