Chartres was back in New York and had telephoned the Frenchman for an appointment. The reply was most discouraging. He had practically concluded arrangements with another house, Chartres said, and intended to sign the papers the following Tuesday and sail for France on Thursday. Dudley's hand on the receiver trembled violently. But he refused to be cast aside. He had in his desk all the lumber and steel bids elaborately worked out to the minimum price and maximum detail and he was sure they were as low as it was possible for any one to quote. Would not Monsieur Chartres grant him a few moments, say at ten on Monday morning? At first M. Chartres would not, but finally, remembering that this was the handsome dark young man who had fought in the French Air Service even before America entered the war, he reluctantly consented.
Dudley knocked upon the door of Chartres' suite on the fifteenth floor of the Biltmore precisely at ten and was admitted. The little Napoleon of finance was sitting near the window of his sitting-room before a table upon which a breakfast tray rested. He was alternately munching a piece of toast and drinking wine. A bottle which he had brought from France stood upon the tray and a waiter hovered near. Dudley accepted a chair and
