and, leaving Bottiger and Gutermann to take Angel home, he and I drove straight to the offices of Honest John Driver. We were ushered into the great man at once, and found him sitting before the fire, idle, with a half-smoked cigar in his month which had long gone out. His greeting lacked warmth, his air was dejected, and I fancied that his expression of brazen honesty had lost a little of its lustrous sheen.
We shook hands with him, and Chelubai said cheerfully, "Well, Mr. Driver, we've completed our contract. We have had Gutermann safely out of touch with civilization for the last twelve days."
The King of Finance raised his ponderous bulk from the chair, and stood frowning at us: "Never," he said, with heavy solemnity—"never let me hear that man's name again!"
"Why, what's the matter?" said Chelubai.
"The matter is that he's a rascal—a thorough-paced rascal! A treacherous scoundrel! I've done with him! Done with him for good! I'm taking steps to have our partnership dissolved as soon as ever it can be arranged!"
His voice rose to an angry roar; his face flushed; his eyes sparkled with fury.
"What's he done?" said Chelubai.
"Done? He's sold me out—me—his partner and his friend!" His voice broke, and I thought he was going to sob.
