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Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

"The Profiteers"

"
"A quarter of an hour?" Rees went on. "Nonsense! Try and do it in five
minutes.--Yes, our whole stock. When you've got the message through, ring
us up.--Where are we? Why, at Lord Dredlinton's house. Don't be longer
than you can help. Put a different person on each line.--What's that?"
Rees turned his head.
"He wants to know again," he said, "how much to sell. Let me say half our
stock. That will be sufficient to ruin us. It will bring the price of
that damned loaf of yours--"
"The whole stock," Wingate interrupted, "every bushel."
"Sell the whole stock," Rees repeated wearily.
Wingate replaced the telephone upon a distant table. Then he mixed a
little brandy and water in two glasses, broke off a piece of bread, set
it before the two men and rang the bell. It was answered in an incredibly
short space of time.
"Grant," he directed, "bring in the breakfast trays in ten minutes."
The man disappeared as silently as he had come. Wingate cut the knots and
released the hands of his two prisoners. Their fingers were numb and
helpless, however. Rees picked up the bread with his teeth from the
table. Phipps tried but failed. Wingate held the tumbler of brandy and
water once more to his lips.
"Here, take this," he invited. "You'll find the circulation come back all
right directly."
"Aren't you going to give him anything?" Phipps asked, moving his head
towards Dredlinton.


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