"Then we'll have to take him back,"
he said. "We can't afford a strike now."
A couple of days later Peer was lying in bed, when the post-bag was
brought in. He shook the letters out over the coverlet, and caught sight
of one from Klaus Brook.
What was this? Why did his hand tremble as he took it up? Of course it
was only one of Klaus's ordinary friendly letters.
DEAR FRIEND,--This is a hard letter to write. But I do hope you have
taken my advice and got some of your money at any rate over to Norway.
Well, to be as brief as possible! Ferdinand Holm has decamped, or is
in prison, or possibly worse--you know well enough it's no good asking
questions in a country like this when a big man suddenly disappears.
He had made enemies in the highest places; he was playing a dangerous
game--and this is the end of it.
You know what it means when a business goes into liquidation out here,
and no strong man on the spot to look after things. We Europeans can
whistle for our share.
You'll take it coolly, I know. I've lost every penny I had--but you've
still got your place over there and the workshops. And you're the sort
of fellow to make twice as much next time, or I don't know you. I hope
the Besna barrage is to be a success.
Yours ever,
KLAUS BROCK.
P.S.--Of course you'll understand that now my friend has been thrown
overboard it will very likely be my turn next. But I can't leave now--to
try would rouse suspicion at once. We foreigners have some difficult
balancing to do, to escape a fall.
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