“Bah! You never need fear that, my dear fellow. The people we are dealing with are discreet—silent in their own interests. This isn’t the first little piece of confidential business I’ve had with them.” “Ah, my dear Jorgen, you’re becoming really too scrupulous in your old age,” laughed the fat, pimply-faced man in a well-cut yachting suit, as he drew heavily at his cigar and lolled back in a long cane-chair on deck. “You should recollect that in these modern days of ours honesty spells poverty.”…
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