personal habits which would hardly have made him welcome in
the best boudoirs. But Mr. Diehl, who
preferred to base his self-satisfaction on his reception at the bank, was
contemplating nothing but rosy futures on a certain morning when one of
his underlings sidled into his private
office and told him that there was a potential client outside whom he might want to see.
“The Count of Cristamonte, yet. And he’s
looking for a big deal.”
Mr. Diehl had a plentiful staff of salesmen
and secre taries to handle routine and minor transactions, but he
had it understood that the most important properties were han dled by
himself personally. In this way he could entitle him self to pocket more
of the commission, and also give himself more to brag about at
the Golf Club bar.
“Then send him in, boy, send him
in.”
The client had about him a quiet aroma of
potential moola that Mr. Diehl recognized at once. He carried himself
with the graceful and unhurried confidence of one who is accus tomed to
deference, and his blue eyes had the easy non chalance that nothing
buttresses quite so solidly as the spare figures in a bank
account; and if the trim pointed beard that outlined his lean
jaw gave him a somewhat rakish and piratical appearance, that impression
was softened by the mild and engaging way he spoke. It was a characterization to which
the Saint had lately become quite attached, and it had yet to have
its first failure.
“What kind of price range were you
thinking in?” Mr. Diehl asked bluntly, as soon as he could
bluntly ask it.
“I don’t think there are any ordinary
limits,” Simon said calmly. “I represent a syndicate of
European investors who happen to have very large dollar credits to
dispose of and would like to keep their capital working in this
prosperous country.”
“What type of property are they
interested in? Income, or development?”
“For a start, we were thinking of a
country club that might be the most exclusive in America—strictly for
what I think you call ‘rich millionaires.’ It would have to be on the Ocean, for
the beach, and also on the waterway, for a pri vate yacht harbor;
and besides the usual bungalows and restaurant it would naturally need room
for its own tennis courts, golf course, polo field, bridle trails, private
airport, and so on. We could easily use two or three thousand
acres. And if the property was right, we should not haggle over a million
dollars one way or the other.”
Mr. Diehl cleared his throat and aimed a
sloppy shot at the brass cuspidor beside his desk, to prove that it was
not just an antique ornament and that making light of a million dollars did
not necessarily awe him.
“A hunk of property like that is going
to take a bit of finding, these days, with all the subdividing that’s been going on—”
“I’m well aware of that,” said the
Saint. “And so I shall naturally be asking all the important brokers
what they have to offer. You just happen to be the first one on my list.
Eventually I shall have to deal with the one who has the most suitable
parcel to show me. I hope there’s no mis understanding about
that.”
“Now let’s think that through,
Count,” said Mr. Diehl, scratching himself vigorously, which he was
given to doing when he was excited. “I don’t want to talk out of
turn, but you probably haven’t any idea how many highbinders there are in this
business. You’re lucky you came to me first. Every one knows what they
call me around here: ‘Square’ Diehl—it’s right out there on
the front of the building. But what they call some of the
others I wouldn’t want to quote to you.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir. And if there’s any kind of
buyer they’ll gang up on worse than a Yankee, its a foreigner, if you’ll
excuse the word. Maybe you were thinking that if you shop around, you’d have
‘em all competing to offer you the best property at the best price.
Well, you’d be wrong. They’ve worked out a better system
the best boudoirs. But Mr. Diehl, who
preferred to base his self-satisfaction on his reception at the bank, was
contemplating nothing but rosy futures on a certain morning when one of
his underlings sidled into his private
office and told him that there was a potential client outside whom he might want to see.
“The Count of Cristamonte, yet. And he’s
looking for a big deal.”
Mr. Diehl had a plentiful staff of salesmen
and secre taries to handle routine and minor transactions, but he
had it understood that the most important properties were han dled by
himself personally. In this way he could entitle him self to pocket more
of the commission, and also give himself more to brag about at
the Golf Club bar.
“Then send him in, boy, send him
in.”
The client had about him a quiet aroma of
potential moola that Mr. Diehl recognized at once. He carried himself
with the graceful and unhurried confidence of one who is accus tomed to
deference, and his blue eyes had the easy non chalance that nothing
buttresses quite so solidly as the spare figures in a bank
account; and if the trim pointed beard that outlined his lean
jaw gave him a somewhat rakish and piratical appearance, that impression
was softened by the mild and engaging way he spoke. It was a characterization to which
the Saint had lately become quite attached, and it had yet to have
its first failure.
“What kind of price range were you
thinking in?” Mr. Diehl asked bluntly, as soon as he could
bluntly ask it.
“I don’t think there are any ordinary
limits,” Simon said calmly. “I represent a syndicate of
European investors who happen to have very large dollar credits to
dispose of and would like to keep their capital working in this
prosperous country.”
“What type of property are they
interested in? Income, or development?”
“For a start, we were thinking of a
country club that might be the most exclusive in America—strictly for
what I think you call ‘rich millionaires.’ It would have to be on the Ocean, for
the beach, and also on the waterway, for a pri vate yacht harbor;
and besides the usual bungalows and restaurant it would naturally need room
for its own tennis courts, golf course, polo field, bridle trails, private
airport, and so on. We could easily use two or three thousand
acres. And if the property was right, we should not haggle over a million
dollars one way or the other.”
Mr. Diehl cleared his throat and aimed a
sloppy shot at the brass cuspidor beside his desk, to prove that it was
not just an antique ornament and that making light of a million dollars did
not necessarily awe him.
“A hunk of property like that is going
to take a bit of finding, these days, with all the subdividing that’s been going on—”
“I’m well aware of that,” said the
Saint. “And so I shall naturally be asking all the important brokers
what they have to offer. You just happen to be the first one on my list.
Eventually I shall have to deal with the one who has the most suitable
parcel to show me. I hope there’s no mis understanding about
that.”
“Now let’s think that through,
Count,” said Mr. Diehl, scratching himself vigorously, which he was
given to doing when he was excited. “I don’t want to talk out of
turn, but you probably haven’t any idea how many highbinders there are in this
business. You’re lucky you came to me first. Every one knows what they
call me around here: ‘Square’ Diehl—it’s right out there on
the front of the building. But what they call some of the
others I wouldn’t want to quote to you.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir. And if there’s any kind of
buyer they’ll gang up on worse than a Yankee, its a foreigner, if you’ll
excuse the word. Maybe you were thinking that if you shop around, you’d have
‘em all competing to offer you the best property at the best price.
Well, you’d be wrong. They’ve worked out a better system
Similar Books
