Stranleigh pondered a few minutes, wondering, if he brought about a meeting between Peter and the Baroness, whether the charm and magnetism of the gentlewoman would exercise the same influence on the stern Mackeller that had so effectually led to his own capture, but he dismissed this as unlikely, although it might be tried as a last resort.
The Baroness had complained of the dishonesty she suspected in her Viennese advisers, so Stranleigh believed that nothing would advance her own interests better than enlisting on her behalf the assistance of a man so blunt and incorruptible as Mr. Peter Mackeller.
"Ah well," he cried with a sigh, "at worst Peter can only refuse. I'll ring him up and get yes or no, and cast the subject from my mind."
His lordship had been thinking of luck favouring Peter, but he was now to profit by an instance of the fickle goddess putting in good work for himself, assisted by the defective nature of the telephone, and the peculiar construction of the English language. He unhooked, and placed against his ear, the receiver of the telephone which stood on the table beside him.
"Give me seven-nought-double-nine City . . . Ah! is that Mr. Mackeller's office? Is Mr. Mackeller in? . . . Very good. Would you ask him
