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« on: January 09, 2024, 12:22:04 pm » |
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IF indeed there was something of melodrama in Warren Rand’s night journey across Western Europe, with all his suite and retinue, there was drama of the real sort in the palatial room which Tellesom entered for the first time the following afternoon. “A triumph of interior simplicity,” the world-famous architect who was responsible for its structure had declared, as he looked lovingly at the Doric pillars, the white marble floor, the stately, carved roof, the fine sweep of the great windows. Of furniture there was scarcely any. A long oak table, which could have seated forty people, was almost lost in the centre of the floor. At its head, on that memorable afternoon, sat Warren Rand, with John Glynde on a small chair a little behind him. On his right was the Right Honourable Oliver Trowse, Prime Minister of England; next to him Monsieur Foucquailles. Medano, Mussolini’s one trusted minister, was opposite; Friedmann, successor to Anselm Loeb, and whose nickname was “The Honest German,” sat a few places away. By his side was Grateson, the American, a great diplomat and a future President. Behind, at a small table by themselves, were four other men of highly professional appearance. It was an amazing gathering to have been brought together at the invitation of any one man.
Warren Rand had been speaking when Tellesom was passed into the room, but he broke off and waited while the latter made swift progress towards him. He spoke no word of welcome; simply took the despatch which Tellesom handed to him, slit open the envelope, and glanced at its contents. He laid the communication with some other papers by his side and motioned to a chair in the background.
“Remain for the present, Tellesom,” he directed. . . . “Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to his audience, “I thank you for your presence here. I should not have asked for it, had I not something worth saying to you. I am going to be brief---perhaps you will think surprisingly brief. You see several strangers at the table beyond yours. One of them is Sir Hugo Myer, who, I think you know, is one of the greatest authorities upon international finance. There is also Mr. Henry Pritchard, representing, I am told, the best-known firm of accountants in the world, and the other two gentlemen are the most famous exponents of American and English law---Mr. Remington of New York and Lord Hindhead from London. I have thought it wise to require their presence, in case you should wish to ask any questions arising out of the matter which we are about to discuss.”
He paused for a moment. The Frenchman, who had never ceased looking around him since his entrance, indulged in a little gesture.
“We came to you full of anticipations, Mr. Rand,” he acknowledged, “but before we go further let me congratulate you. I have watched this building in the course of construction for years. I congratulate you upon owning the most palatial and wonderful bank architecturally in the world.”
“The building is truly amazing,” Medano observed. “I should appreciate it more if our friend Mr. Rand had not apparently helped himself to half the money in the universe to fill it.”
There was a little murmur of amusement---not altogether sincere. Warren Rand smiled grimly as he realised its artificial note. No one knew better than himself how he had embarrassed the money dealers of the world.
“Your complaint against me may be justified, Signor,” he admitted. “Perhaps, however, before we have finished this evening, you will look at things differently. I asked you to meet me here because, although I represent no country and therefore can take no part in your formal discussions, I do represent a Power---one of the greatest Powers in the world---and for that reason I am venturing to claim a few minutes---half an hour possibly---of your time.”
“I quite agree with Mr. Rand that he has the right to call us into conference,” Trowse declared. “I have come all the way from England at his request. Otherwise, our representative, Mr. Peatfield, is in charge of proceedings here.”
“You have already,” Warren Rand continued, “signed a Treaty of Disarmament, which, if faithfully kept---and I believe that it will be faithfully kept---should lead to a great decrease in your national expenditures. To-morrow is the final day for you to come to your decisions as to the Peace Pact. You five gentlemen who are assembled here this afternoon represent the five World Powers. What you do, the others will do. Therefore, I address myself to you. We are an unofficial gathering. Nothing that we say here is binding nor will it be reported outside this room. I shall ask you, therefore, whatever questions I choose, leaving you to answer them or not, according to your inclinations. What are your instructions to your representative, Mr. Trowse, with reference to signing the Peace Pact to-morrow?”
“I have not absolutely decided,” was the somewhat surprised reply.
“Monsieur Foucquailles, I venture to ask you the same question.”
“I may sign---but----”
The little gesture was eloquent.
“I shall sign,” the American declared. “Those are my instructions.”
“I reserve my decision,” the German observed. “My present convictions are against signing. My government has left me a free hand, however.”
“I shall sign,” Medano announced, “unless anything happens between now and to-morrow to influence my decision.”
“Now we know where we are,” Warren Rand proceeded coolly. “This subject has been amply discussed in committee and in general session. I believe that I have correctly gauged the spirit of the majority of you. You probably say to yourselves---in fact, you have already said it---that no Peace Pact is of solid value because there is no guarantee that in the hour of temptation it would be kept. You argue that it is useless to make laws unless you have the power behind to enforce them. In this case, you ask yourselves, who is to exact any penalties that may be decided upon against the aggressor? You have a code of laws, but you are without police or law courts to enforce them. Therefore---to the minds of some of you---the Peace Pact rests upon no logical foundation.”
“I could not,” Doctor Friedmann remarked, “have expressed my objections to the Peace Pact more clearly myself.”
“I must confess that I feel the same way about it,” Trowse assented.
“Very well,” Warren Rand went on, “I have known for some weeks that the sentiment in favour of signing the Peace Pact was by no means unanimous and I have prepared myself. It is my desire that it shall be signed whole-heartedly by all of you. It is to induce your signatures that I have invited you to meet me here to-day.”
Then Oliver Trowse---always the blunderer---asked that simple question which the whole world had asked itself many times during the last few months.
“Why are you so anxious for the adoption of the Peace Pact, Mr. Rand?”
There was no change in the latter’s face. If anything, his tone was a little drier than ever as he answered.
“That seems to me, sir, a very reasonable question to ask, but a little beside the point. What does it matter? I may, although few people would believe it of me, have the heart of a philanthropist. I may be working towards this end for love of my fellow creatures, but I don’t think that any one would believe that either. Let the question remain unanswered. It will not affect the result. Let it suffice that I am going to offer you all what I hope you will consider adequate inducement to sign the Peace Pact.”
Genuine interest quickly stifled curiosity. Every one leaned a little forward in his place. It was an occasion, this, which had never happened before in the history of mankind---the coming together of the statesmen of the world at the bidding of a capitalist. Somehow or other, every one felt that it was an amazing and momentous crisis, that his standard of proportions was about to be changed as though by an earthquake. Capital has found voice---the world’s latent and dynamic force, harmless enough when distributed among millions, but a terrible danger when gathered together from all quarters of the universe as this man had gathered it. In what manner would he propose to use his power?
“Before I proceed,” Warren Rand went on, “I must convince you that I am in a position to carry out my promise. With that object in view, I have asked for the attendance here of Mr. Pritchard, the accountant, who is well-known both in London and New York. Mr. Pritchard, you have had free access to my banks, to my secret ledgers, to my brokers, to my men of law, for the last six months. An exact balance sheet no one could make out, because my fortune changes from minute to minute, but you can tell these gentlemen who are present here approximately how much capital I own free of all charge or liability.”
Mr. Pritchard rose to his feet. He looked round the table. This was a proud moment in his life. No one else in the world had ever been able to make such an announcement to such an audience.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “Mr. Rand has told you the truth. He has given me the secret keys to his affairs. With a staff of twenty clerks, I have been engaged for a great many months in making my calculations. I have been able to arrive at more or less final figures. When I tell you what they are, you will have to acknowledge to yourselves that not only is Mr. Warren Rand the richest man in the world, but he is by so far the richest that he stands alone as a power and a force to be reckoned with in the day-by-day history of affairs. I estimate Mr. Warren Rand, on to-day’s figuring, to be worth some seven hundred million pounds sterling.”
There was a dead and significance silence. One man’s lips moved slowly, as though he were saying the sum over to himself.
“Pounds?” the American gasped.
“Pounds sterling,” the accountant repeated. “There is no possibility of any vital mistake in the calculations. At any time, if Mr. Rand chose, he could increase those figures hugely by sacking your markets. He has refrained from doing anything of the sort. Mr. Warren Rand is worth seven hundred million pounds.”
They were all more or less stupefied. Warren Rand continued coldly.
“Gentlemen,” he explained, “I have asked my accountant to make this statement, not from any sense of vain-glory, because the possession or non-possession of money is largely a matter of accident, and it is probable that, even though I am in command of this sum to-day, I shall die a poor man.”
This time every one found breath to indulge in little exclamations of mingled awe and wonder. Warren Rand listened to them all without change of countenance.
“Wait, Gentlemen,” he enjoined, “until I have stated my proposition. I pass on now to another phase of the present situation. Throughout Europe, and more or less in America, every country is suffering from scarcity of gold.”
“Gold!”
One could almost hear some of these men beginning to think. The mystery of the generation---the slow absorption of gold in unknown channels!
“Gentlemen,” Warren Rand went on, “you might, perhaps, believe that what I have done is an impossibility. It is for that I have asked Sir Hugo to be present. His cousin, as you know, is the first bullion broker in London. The world is suffering from a shortage of gold. All your exchanges are flopping about. Do you know where that gold is? In my cellars.”
“It isn’t possible,” the American, who was the only one who seemed to have any breath in his body, gasped.
“It is the truth,” Warren Rand pronounced. “I have been buying gold anonymously through my banks in various countries for five years---stripping myself to buy gold, especially where I could do so with some measure of secrecy. The banks have been supposed to be buying for their governments. They were not. They were my banks and they were buying for me. I even risked the insurance sometimes to prevent my name being published. In the States this week there is an article pointing out that the shortage of gold to-day amounts to very nearly five hundred million pounds. The man who wrote that article knew what he was talking about. In the vaults of this bank, Gentlemen, is deposited in bullion, specie and sovereigns, gold to the amount of five hundred million pounds.”
Monsieur Foucquailles struck the table with his clenched fist.
“It is incredible,” he cried.
“The man is mad!” Medano shouted.
Trowse laughed heartily and scornfully.
“I always said that he was mad,” he declared. “We were fools to come here.”
The German was almost as hysterical as the rest, but he preserved his reason.
“Let him finish,” he begged. “Let him spin the rest of his fairy tale.”
Every one was talking at once, contradicting one another, exclaiming, disputing. The American’s voice was the first to ring out with any final word of challenge.
“Warren Rand,” he said, “I’ll commence by telling you frankly I don’t believe you. Having told you that, I’ll ask you a question. If this is true, what in the name of God is the meaning of it? You’ve plunged the whole financial world into embarrassment and distress, at your own cost. You can make no money hoarding gold. You’re losing a man-sized fortune every day of your life.”
“I will deal with your first statement,” Warren Rand announced, touching a bell by his side. “This is a world’s event, Gentlemen. I shall make no apologies for causing you a little trouble. I shall ask you to visit my vaults. Sir Hugo and you, John Glynde, will escort our friends.”
A man in uniform had entered the room from a private entrance close to Warren Rand’s chair. The latter turned towards him.
“Sergeant,” he directed, “let me have a guard of thirty men, on the vault floors, armed. These gentlemen will inspect the bullion.”
The man saluted and withdrew. One by one the delegates rose to their feet.
“You are not accompanying us?” Trowse asked.
“It is not necessary,” was the indifferent reply. “I spent an hour in the vaults as soon as I arrived. Sir Hugo is a great expert. He will show you that my calculations are correct.”
They trooped out of the room. Warren Rand neither changed his place nor his posture.
“Tellesom,” he asked, without looking round, “how many men of our original bodyguard have you here?”
“Eight, sir.”
“Where are they stationed?”
Tellesom answered in some surprise. It was the first time he had ever been asked such a question.
“Four in your hotel, sir---one in your apartments. Two are in a taxicab drawn up behind your car here. One of them will be on the pavement as you cross. Another one has a motor bicycle to see if you are watched when you leave. This isn’t a bad place for trouble.”
“Isn’t it?” Warren Rand queried. “I was shot at last night. I think they knew that you had not arrived. The man never came near, though. He may be skulking about again to-night.”
Tellesom was troubled. He looked anxiously at his Chief. Warren Rand had never before shown the slightest anxiety as regards the means taken for his protection.
“I’ll leave the place with you myself, sir, if you’ll allow me,” he suggested.
Warren Rand pinched a cigar but laid it down by his place without lighting it.
“After all,” he muttered, “it is of very little consequence.”
“I should think it was a great deal of consequence if any one got at you while I was in charge,” Tellesom declared. “It’s my job to keep you alive.”
Warren Rand made no remark. He sat in his old posture, waiting. Presently there was the sound of voices and footsteps in the corridor. The door was opened. They all came solemnly in. There was a new expression in their eyes as they looked at Warren Rand. Here indeed was a superman.
“Well, Gentlemen?” he asked.
“The bullion is there,” Grateson acknowledged in an awed tone. “I have never seen such a sight in my life, nor such wonderful vaults.”
“How you accumulated it all I cannot imagine,” Foucquailles murmured.
“That is not our present concern,” Warren Rand observed. “I have had to use many subterfuges and sometimes it has been very difficult. But there it is. Now, Gentlemen, listen to me. We are agreed upon one point, I believe. No country in these days would dare to go to war without a large gold reserve in her treasury.”
“It would be impossible,” Medano declared.
“Absolutely out of the question,” Foucquailles agreed.
“Very well. This is my idea of policing the Pact of Peace. The gold, as I dare say you noticed, is contained in four chambers of the vault. There is a letter on the door of each of these chambers. There is an ‘F’ for France, ‘E’ for England, ‘G’ for Germany, ‘I’ for Italy. You will sign that Peace Pact to-morrow or agree to sign it now, and the keys of those four chambers are at your disposal.”
No one understood. Trowse expressed the general bewilderment.
“Tell us in plain words what you mean, Mr. Rand?” he begged.
“I mean,” Warren Rand explained, “that I am placing at your disposal, Monsieur Foucquailles, and yours, Mr. Trowse, and yours Signor Medano, and yours, Doctor Friedmann, one hundred million pounds’ worth of gold each, on certain conditions. You will find them fully elaborated in papers drawn up by my counsellor here in collaboration with Lord Hindhead. You can examine them at your leisure, but, in plain words, here are the terms. First of all, the gold must be kept in the vaults of this bank, but in your name, belonging to your country, a tangible and available asset against your paper issue. Should any one of you embark upon war, you lose your gold. It is added to the stock of the others and the recalcitrant Power is free to make war if he can. As for you, Grateson,” Warren Rand pointed out, turning to his countryman, “I have not offered you a stock of gold, for you have no need of it. Whatever comes upon the market now is yours for the buying.”
Trowse was clasping his forehead.
“I am an ordinary human being,” he bemoaned. “My brain cannot grasp this. Is the gold a loan?”
“Certainly not,” Warren Rand replied, “else it would be valueless to you as against your paper issue. It is a free gift, on condition that it be not moved from here. It will make not the slightest difference to your financial position whether it is here or in the vaults of the Bank of England, so long as it belongs to you. You part with it only if you break the Peace Pact. The President of the United States is the trustee. I received a cable from him brought by my friend Colonel Tellesom here within the last hour, accepting the charge. The papers are there with Mr. Remington and Lord Hindhead. The whole affair is very simple.”
“Is Mr. Rand correct when he says that the gold lying here can be reckoned as gold available and in the nature of currency?” Trowse asked the lawyers seated at the smaller table.
“Absolutely,” was Remington’s confident reply. “The gold is under the trusteeship of the President of the United States. That is protection enough, I think, for any one here.”
They drifted into spasms of violent conversation, alternated by brief spells of stupefied silence. Medano leaned forward in his place.
“One realises a thing like this but slowly,” he admitted. “Help us, Mr. Rand---help us by telling us what your object is in this, the most stupendous gift the world has ever known.”
“My object should be fairly evident,” was the patient reply. “I desire to end war. I desire the signing of the Peace Pact by the four European Powers. I spent some years trying to think of a way by which the Pact could be made not only a florid gesture, but a permanent reality. I took the advice of my counsellors here. We evolved this scheme.”
“But why?” Medano demanded. “Why are you so passionately anxious to stop war? I have never heard your name mentioned as a great philanthropist. Men fear you rather than anything else. I have heard of you simply as the unscrupulous wrecker of the money markets.”
“I have laid no claim at any time to being a philanthropist,” Warren Rand reminded him, “and I have no explanation to offer of my action. You can call me mad, if you like. It really does not matter. I desire to end war.”
Grateson leaned forward in his seat.
“Warren Rand,” he declared solemnly, “you’re one of the most wonderful men the world has ever known but I don’t get you yet. You don’t suppose that you’re going to stop war for all eternity?”
“My plan,” Warren Rand pronounced confidently, “and I have thought it out with great care, will end war for many generations to come. I will tell you why. The scheme itself will be successfully operative for forty years. After that, when there has been peace for so long, no nation will ever feel again the lust for war. The spirit will die with the shrinking of armaments. No one in the earlier days will risk losing the gold, and when those are past, the habit of strife will cease to be one of men’s instincts.”
Warren Rand had not the air of a man who argues. He just spoke. The burble of talk began again, but in a lesser degree. Presently he tapped upon the table.
“Let us bring this matter to a conclusion,” he suggested. “Mr. Trowse, you will sign the Peace Pact and accept the gold?”
“I will,” was the firm reply.
“And you, Monsieur Foucquailles?”
“I sign---I sign now---I sign when you like.”
“And you, Grateson?”
“I was signing, anyway,” the latter reminded him. “I am bound to say I sign in a very different spirit now, though.”
“Signor Medano?”
“My fingers are only aching to hold the pen,” Medano declared.
“And you, Friedmann?”
“I sign too, on behalf of my country, with a clear conscience and a full heart.”
“The matter, then, is now out of my hands,” Warren Rand concluded. “Lord Hindhead has the keys and he will deliver one to each one of you four to-morrow, after the signing of the Treaty, together with my Deed of Gift. He will also have the documents prepared, setting out the terms of the gift, which you will also sign.”
Friedmann got up and began a confused little speech of thanks. Warren Rand listened unmoved. They crowded around him with grateful gestures but he remained curiously unresponsive.
“You waste words, Gentlemen,” he said. “What I have done, what I am doing, is not for your sakes. I do it because I choose. No one can read inside my mind and discover when or why I came to the determination which I have carried out, nor shall I take any one into my confidence. I do this because I choose to do it.”
They drifted away, chilled a little by his stony aloofness. Hindhead, who had papers to be signed, was the last to go.
“I never dreamed,” he confided, before he took his departure, “that I should ever have the luck to see history made like this.”
Warren Rand’s response was cold and monosyllabic. Not for a moment had one of the speeches which had been showered upon him brought the slightest sign of gratification into his face. The great lawyer, who was reputed to be one of the most eloquent of living men, left him because he could think of nothing to say.
“If you will let me know when you are ready to start, sir,” Tellesom suggested, “I’ll get my men together.”
“It is of no consequence now,” Warren Rand muttered. “The thing is finished.
Warren Rand made no comment. He sat still in the same position, looking down the long table. Then he spoke as though to himself, yet distinctly and so unexpectedly that his listener started.
“I had two sons once.”
Tellesom stared at his Chief, amazed. After all, was it a human being who was coming to life, stirred by the great event of the day?
“They were killed in the war, weren’t they, sir?” he asked.
Warren Rand had the air of a man who had heard nothing. Tellesom lingered for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he left the room. . . .
Twilight was coming upon the city. Lights from the street flashed in through the broad windows. The solitary occupant of the great room never moved his hand to touch one of the buttons which would have flooded the place at any moment with soft light. He sat still in the same position, only in his eyes now there was indeed a touch of the visionary. The empty chairs pushed back from the table had left no ghosts for him. He was looking through the wall and his thoughts, whatever they may have been, were his own. When Tellesom came back, after a few moments, he started with surprise to find the room in darkness. He turned on the lights.
“The men are all ready, sir,” he announced. “Will you come now?”
His Chief made no reply. Tellesom hurried forward. The horror of it was already crushing his senses. Warren Rand had sunk a little lower in his chair, but his eyes looked out into the unknown world. The irony of it was like a sob in Tellesom’s throat. Eight men below to protect the life of a man who was already dead!
THE END
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