"It's a damned unfortunate business!" Van Teyl sighed. "You're only half way out yet, and it's cost you nearly three hundred thousand."
A dull spot of purple colour burned in Fischer's cheeks. His upper lip was drawn in, his appearance for a moment was repulsive.
"It isn't the money I mind," he muttered. "It's Lutchester."
Van Teyl was discreetly silent. Fischer seemed to read his thoughts. He leaned across the table.
"A wonderful fellow, your friend Lutchester," he sneered. "An Admirable Crichton of finance and diplomacy and love-making, eh? But the end isn't just yet. I promise you one thing, James Van Teyl. He isn't going to marry your sister."
"I'd a damned sight sooner she married him than you!" Van Teyl blazed out.
Fischer was taken aback. He had held for so long the upper hand with this young man that for the moment he had forgotten that circumstances were changed between them. Van Teyl rose to his feet. The bonds of the last few months had snapped. He spoke like a free man.
"Look here, Fischer," he said, "you've had me practically in your power for the best part of a year, but now I'm through with you. I'm out of your debt, no thanks to you, and I'm going to keep out. I am working on your business as hard as though you were my own brother, and I'll go on doing it. I'll get you out of this mess as well as I can, and after that you can take your damned business where you please."
"So that's it, is it?" Fischer scoffed. "A rich brother-in-law coming along, eh? ... No, don't do that," stepping quickly backwards as Van Teyl's fist shot out.
"Then keep my sister's name out of this conversation," Van Teyl insisted. "If you are wise, you'll clear out altogether. They're at it again."
Fischer, however, glanced at the clock and remained. At the next lull, he hung down the tape and turned to his companion.
"Say, there's no use quarrelling, James," he declared. "I'm going to leave you to it now. Guess I said a little more than I meant to, but I tell you I hate that fellow Lutchester. I hate him just as though I were the typical German and he were the typical Britisher, and there was nothing but a sea of hate between us. Shake hands, Jim."
Van Teyl obeyed without enthusiasm. Fischer drew a chair to the table and wrote out a cheque, which he passed across.