“You can’t pretend there’s going to be any difficulty in handing over a simple manuscript at a publisher’s office?”
“No,” said Anthony regretfully. “I don’t suppose there’ll be anything difficult about that. But shall I tell you, James, where I propose to go with my £250?”
“South America?”
“No, my lad, Herzoslovakia. I shall stand in with the republic, I think. Very probably I shall end up as president.”
“Why not announce yourself as the principal Obolovitch and be a king whilst you’re about it?”
“No, Jimmy. Kings are for life. Presidents only take on the job for four years or so. It would quite amuse me to govern a kingdom like Herzoslovakia for four years.”
“The average for kings is even less, I should say,” interpolated Jimmy.
“It will probably be a serious temptation to me to embezzle your share of the thousand pounds. You won’t want it, you know, when you get back weighed down with nuggets. I’ll invest it for you in Herzoslovakian oil shares. You know, James, the more I think of it, the more pleased I am with this idea of yours. I should never have thought of Herzoslovakia if you hadn’t mentioned it. I shall spend one day in London, collecting the booty, and then away by the Balkan express!”
“You won’t get off quite as fast as that. I didn’t mention it before, but I’ve got another little commission for you.”
Anthony sank into a chair and eyed him severely.
“I knew all along that you were keeping something dark. This is where the catch comes in.”