WORLD'S END

The other was puzzled. "How did you get it?"

"I took it out of his box downstairs. Nobody saw me."

Even before the father said a word, almost before he had time to comprehend the idea, Lanny knew that he shouldn't have done it; he wished he hadn't done it.

"You mean," said Robbie, "you stole this from the hotel desk?"

"Well, Robbie, he stole your papers, and I thought this might refer to them."

Robbie was looking at his son as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was hearing. It was most uncomfortable for Lanny, and the blood began burning in his cheeks. "Whatever put that into your head, son?"

"You did, Robbie. You said you would fight the old devil with his own Greek fire."

"Yes, Lanny - but to steal!"

"You have had papers stolen for you - at least I got that idea, Robbie. You told me you had got some papers belonging to that Prince Vanya, or whoever it was, in Russia."

"Yes, son; but that was different."

A subtle point, hard for a boy to get. There were things you hired servants to do, detectives and that sort of persons, whose business it was. But you wouldn't do these things yourself; your dignity was offended by the very thought of doing them. Lanny had stepped out of his class as a gentleman.

Robbie stood staring at the piece of fashionable stationery, addressed in a lady's handwriting; and the boy's unhappiness grew. "I honestly thought I'd be helping you," he pleaded.

The father said: "Yes, I know, of course. But you made a mistake."

Another pause, and Robbie inquired: "Do you know if Zaharoff has come back to the hotel?" When Lanny answered that he had, the father said: "I think you must take this letter to him."

"Take it, Robbie?"

"Tell him how you got it, and apologize."

"But, Robbie, how awful! What excuse can I give?"

"Don't give any excuse. Tell him the facts."

"Shall I tell him who I am?"

"That's a fact, isn't it?"

"Shall I tell him that you think he stole your papers?"

"That's a fact, too."

Lanny saw that his father was in an implacable mood; and, rattled as the boy was, he had sense enough to know what it meant. Robbie wished to teach him a lesson, so that he wouldn't turn into a thief. "All right," he said. "Whatever you say."

He took the letter and started toward the door. Then, an idea occurring to him, he turned. "Suppose he beats me?"

"I don't think he'll do that," replied the other. "You see, he's a coward."

X

Lanny went by the stairway, not wanting anybody to see him. He knew the room number. He knocked, and to a young man who came to the door he said: "I have a letter for M. Zaharoff."

"May I have it, please?" asked the man.

"I have to hand it to him personally."

The secretary took him in with practiced professional eye. "Will you give me your name?"

"I would rather give it to M. Zaharoff. Just tell him, please, that I have a letter which I must put into his hands. It'll only take a moment."

Perhaps the secretary saw about Lanny Budd those signs which are not easy to counterfeit, and which establish even a youngster as entitled to consideration. "Will you come in, please?" he said, and the lad entered a drawing room full of gilt and plush and silk embroidery and marble and ormolu - all things which fortify the self-esteem of possessors of wealth. Lanny waited, standing. He didn't feel at home and didn't expect to.

In a minute or two a door was opened, and the master of Europe came in. He had changed his ugly broadcloth coat for a smoking jacket of green flowered silk. He came about halfway and then said: "You have a message for me?" The boy was surprised by his voice, which was low and well modulated; his French was perfect.

"M. Zaharoff," said Lanny, with all the firmness he could summon, "this is a letter of yours which I stole. I have brought it to you with my apologies."

The old man was so surprised that he did not put out his hand for the letter. "You stole it?"

"My father told me that you caused his portfolio to be stolen, so I thought I would pay you back. But my father does not approve of that, so I am bringing the letter."

The old spider sensed a trembling in his web. Such a trembling may be caused by something that spiders eat, or again it may be caused by something that eats spiders. The cold blue eyes narrowed. "So your father thinks that I employ thieves?"

"He says that is your practice; but he doesn't want it to be mine."

"Did he tell you to tell me that?"

"He told me that whatever questions you asked me I was to answer with the facts."

This, obviously, was something which might be of importance. Wariness and concentration were in every feature of Basil Zaharoff. He knew how to watch and think, and let the other person betray himself. But Lanny had said his say, and continued to hold the letter.

So finally the munitions king took it; but he did not look at it. "May I ask your name, young man?"

"My name is banning Prescott Budd."

"Of Budd Gunmakers Corporation?"

"That is my family, sir."

"Your father is Robert Budd, then?"

"Yes, sir."