Chartres nodded. He signed his name with a flourish. He produced another glass and poured out wine for two.
"To our agreement and prosperity," he toasted gravely. Dudley had never tasted anything half so good. It was the nectar of the gods and Chartres was the greatest financial wizard who had ever lived. And so Dudley Drake, taking his leave after making sure that the signed contract was securely in his briefcase, closed the door of Chartres' suite softly and made his way to the elevator. And no wonder he was looking very cheerful. He had put it over, the deal that was to "make" him—and Carmelita.
"Why, doggone it, I'm going to be rich, I am rich," he told himself in some surprise as the elevator whisked him swiftly to the main floor. His uncle had mentioned $250,000 as his share of the commission, and a possible partnership. Carmelita would be so proud of him and she could have anything she wanted now. Poor girl, he'd show her. He descended into the subway on air and didn't mind the stifling heat down there and the fact that he had to stand all the way to Wall Street clinging to a dirty strap. He hadn't telephoned his uncle. He wanted to see Sanford Drake's face as he told him the news.
Sanford Drake was busy, with a client.
