THE YELLOW GOD
Alan Vernon walked thoughtfully down the lead-covered stairs， hustled by eager gentlemen hurrying up to see the great editor， whose bell was already ringing furiously， and was duly ushered by the obsequious assistant-chauffeur back into the luxurious motor. There was an electric lamp in this motor， and by the light of it， his mind being perplexed， he began to read the typewritten document given to him by Mr. Jackson， which he still held in his hand.
As it chanced they were blocked for a quarter of an hour near the Mansion House， so that he found time， if not to master it， at least to gather enough of its contents to make him open his brown eyes very wide before the motor pulled up at the granite doorway of his office.
Alan descended from the machine， which departed silently， and stood for a moment wondering what he should do. His impulse was to jump into a bus and go straight to his rooms or his club， to which Sir Robert did not belong， but being no coward， he dismissed it from his mind.
His fate hung in the balance， of that he was well aware. Either he must disregard Mr. Jackson's warning， confirmed as it was by many secret fears and instincts of his own， and say nothing except that he had failed in his mission， or he must take the bull by the horns and break with the firm. To do the latter meant not only a good deal of moral courage， but practical ruin， whereas if he chose the former course， probably within a fortnight he would find himself a rich man.
Whatever Jackson and a few others might say in its depreciation， he was certain that the Sahara flotation would go through， for it was underwritten， of course upon terms， by responsible people， moreover the unissued preferred shares had already been dealt in at a heavy premium. Now to say nothing of the allotment to which he was entitled upon his holding in the parent Syndicate， the proportion of cash due to him as a partner， would amount to quite a hundred thousand pounds.
In other words， he， who had so many reasons for desiring money， would be wealthy. After working so hard and undergoing so much that he felt to be humiliating and even degrading， why should he not take his reward and clear out afterwards？
This he remembered he could do， since probably by some oversight of Aylward's， who left such matters to his lawyers， his deed of partnership did not bind him to a fixed term. It could be broken at any moment. To this argument there was only one possible answer， that of his conscience. If once he were convinced that things were not right， it would be dishonest to participate in their profits. And he was convinced. Mr. Jackson's arguments and his damning document had thrown a flood of light upon many matters which he had suspected but never quite understood. He was the partner of， well， adventurers， and the money which he received would in fact be filched from the pockets of unsuspecting persons. He would vouch for that of which he was doubtful and receive the price of sharp practice. In other words he， Alan Vernon， who had never uttered a wilful untruth or taken a halfpenny that was not his own， would before the tribunal of his own mind， stand convicted as a liar and a thief. The thing was not to be borne. At whatever cost it must be ended. If he were fated to be a beggar， at least he would be an honest beggar.
With a firm step and a high head he walked straight into Sir Robert's room， without even going through the formality of knocking， to find Mr. Champers-Haswell seated at the ebony desk by his partner's side examining some document through a reading-glass， which on his appearance， was folded over and presently thrust away into a drawer.
It seemed， Alan noticed， to be of an unusual shape and written in some strange character.
Mr. Haswell， a stout， jovial-looking， little man with a florid complexion and white hair， rose at once to greet him.
"How do you do， Alan，" he said in a cheerful voice， for as a cousin by marriage he called him by his Christian name. "I am just this minute back from Paris， and you will be glad to learn that they are going to support us very well there； in fact I may say that the Government has taken up the scheme， of course under the rose. You know the French have possessions all along that coast and they won't be sorry to find an opportunity of stretching out their hand a little further. Our difficulties as to capital are at an end， for a full third of it is guaranteed in Paris， and I expect that small investors and speculators for the rise will gobble a lot more. We shall plant ā10，000，000 worth of Sahara scrip in sunny France， my boy， and foggy England has underwritten the rest. It will be a case of 'letters of Allotment and regret，' /and/ regret， Alan， financially the most successful issue of the last dozen years. What do you say to that？" and in his elation the little man puffed out his chest and pursing up his lips， blew through them， ****** a sound like that of wind among wires.
"I don't know， Mr. Haswell. If we are all alive I would prefer to answer the question twelve months hence， or later， when we see whether the company is going to be a practical success as well， or not."
Again Mr. Haswell made the sound of wind among wires， only this time there was a shriller note in it； its mellowness was gone， it was as though the air had suddenly been filled with frost.
"A practical success！" he repeated after him. "That is scarcely our affair， is it？ Promoters should not bother themselves with long views， Alan. These may be left to the investing public， the speculative parson and the maiden lady who likes a flutter--those props of modern enterprise. But what do you mean？ You originated this idea and always said that the profits should be great."
"Yes， Mr. Haswell， on a moderate capitalization and provided that we are sure of the co-operation of the Porte."
Mr. Haswell looked at him very searchingly and Sir Robert， who had been listening， said in his cold voice：
