“Yes. For central heating. The Sugar Bank was the first to install one. Now the police have closed the Bank. Even the confidential clerks and the directors were affected.”

“Send word round that the sale of Karburators to banks is forbidden.”

“But why?”

“I forbid it, and that’s enough! Let them do their heating with coal!”

“It’s a bit too late. All the banks are already putting in our heating system. It’s being installed in the Houses of Parliament and in all the Government departments. The central Karburator at Stvanice, which is to light the whole of Prague, is finished. It is a fifty-kilo monster, a magnificent machine. It is to be ceremoniously set in motion at six o’clock the day after to-morrow, in the presence of the President, the Burgomaster, the City Council, and the representatives of the M. E. C. You must be present. You of all people!”

“God forbid!” Mr. Bondy shouted, horror-stricken. “No, no, Heaven defend me from that! I will not go!”

“But, Chief, you must. We can’t send Rosenthal or Hubka there. Why, they’re raving mad. They would make dreadful speeches. It’s the honour of the firm that’s at stake. The Burgomaster of Prague has prepared a speech in our honour. The representatives of foreign Governments and the foreign Press will be there. It’s to be a great occasion. As soon as the street lamps light up, military bands are going to play salutes and fanfares in the streets, the Male Voice Choirs and the other Choral Societies will sing, there’ll be fireworks and a salute of a hundred and one guns, the Castle will be illuminated, and I don’t know what. Chief, you simply must be there.”

G. H. Bondy arose in great torment of spirit. “God! oh God!” he whispered, “if it be possible, remove this cup. . . .”

“Will you be there?” repeated the manager inexorably.

“God! oh God! why hast Thou forsaken me?”

VIII. The Dredge

CHAPTER VIII

THE DREDGE

THE dredge M. E. 28 stood motionless in the evening twilight above Stechovice. The Paternoster shovel had long since ceased heaving up the cold sand from the bed of the Vltava River. The evening was mild and calm, fragrant with new-mown hay and the breath of the woodlands. A tender orange glow still lingered in the north-west. Here and there a wave glittered with unearthly splendour amid the reflections of the sky—gleamed, murmured and blent itself with the shining surface of the stream. A skiff was coming towards the dredge from Stechovice. It made slow progress against the rapid current, and stood out upon the glowing river like a black water-beetle.

“Someone is coming over to see us,” Kuzenda, the skipper, said quietly, from his seat in the rear of the dredge.

“Two of ’em,” said Brych, the stoker, after a pause.

“Yes, and I know who it is, too,” said Kuzenda.

“The sweethearts from Stechovice,” said Brych.