It was, if I may say so, quite impressive. All but revolutionary in fact; however obvious all this might seem now, the application of commercial logic to what had up until then been a military and diplomatic enterprise caused some consternation. Of those who saw my note, some were outraged, others appalled and a few were intrigued. Many considered my arguments vulgar and distasteful – although most of those disapproved of any form of espionage at all.

CHAPTER 6

And some people were prepared to fund the operation. I received instructions from Mr Wilkinson that friends would back me, and that I was to go to Paris, and that I was now to be a journalist working for The Times, a somewhat steep social descent after Barings. I should see the editor to find out how to do this once the man had been informed that he was to employ me. Then I was summoned to another lunch. I was expecting Mr Wilkinson; instead I encountered John Stone for the first time.

'Your chief investor,' Wilkinson said, waving at him. 'Potentially. He felt that before he put money into you, he should see if you are worth the effort.'

I studied him carefully as Wilkinson slid out of the room to leave us alone. He was about fifty, and quite unremarkable to look at. Cleanshaven, with thinning hair that was touched with grey, and dressed in a fashion that was proper and yet entirely anonymous. The cufflinks, I noticed, were of simple design and inexpensive; he wore no ring; he had none of the sleek prosperity about him that men like Lord Revelstoke, the Chairman of Barings, managed to exude. No whiff of cologne, no sign of hair oil, expensive or otherwise. He could have passed as – anything he wished. Certainly, he drew no attention to himself.

Physically, also, he was unremarkable. Not handsome especially, nor ugly. His eyes were attentive and held their subject with great fixity; his movements were slow and measured. Nothing hurried him, if he did not want to be hurried. His calm was one of confidence and – I would have said if the description wasn't ridiculous – contentment.

I had heard the name, but it had scarcely registered with me. Stone was not yet the force he has since become in British industry; his reputation as a sophisticated manipulator of money was growing, but not to the point where he could no longer hide his achievements. He was known as the man who had combined Gleeson's steel and Beswick Shipyard but there was still no reason to think he was anything other than an ambitious and competent man of industry. Accordingly, although I was polite, I was not overawed by the encounter.

He surprised me, though. For the most part these industrialists are difficult people to converse with, self-made men for whom industry is everything and who judge conversation to be the stuff of the weak. They despise bankers, on the whole, for contributing nothing to society, and for acting as parasites on their endeavours. They are either overwhelmed by the likes of Wilkinson or aggressive in showing their disdain. Stone was none of these things. He was mild-mannered, almost as though I was doing him the favour. For a long time the conversation steered around anything other than the reason for the luncheon.

'So you plan to go to Paris?' he asked eventually, as though I had let slip my desire to see the sights.

'In a week or so, if all goes well.'

'And Barings? They are not upset to let a man of such promise leave?'

'They seem more than ready to bear their loss with fortitude,' I replied, with a touch of slight bitterness. When I told Barings of my decision, they had merely nodded, and accepted the letter of resignation. Hadn't even asked for an explanation, let alone tried to dissuade me.

'I see. You cannot blame them really. Defending the Empire is very admirable, but doing it on Barings' time is quite another. Don't judge them too harshly. Banking is not a business which has much use for individuality. Even Revelstoke thinks that initiative and daring should be his sole preserve. It is a great error on his part. Mind you, I believe he has an equally low opinion of me.'

'Might I ask why?'

'Oh, he regards me as an upstart,' Stone said with a faint smile, but he did not seek to convey the idea that Revelstoke was beneath contempt as a result. Rather he reported it in a manner which was entirely neutral, even as though the Chairman of Barings might have a point. 'It is nothing personal, you understand. But he thinks I don't understand money.'

'And you think you do?'

'I think I understand people, and Revelstoke takes too many risks. He has made a great deal of money out of it and so is emboldened to take even more. He believes he is infallible, and that will spell ruin, sooner or later. Hubris, you know, can destroy a banker as well as a Greek hero.'

Now, someone criticising Lord Revelstoke, acknowledged throughout the world as one of the greatest bankers in history, made me feel a little uncomfortable.

'He is surely the greatest innovator in banking of the age,' I said.

'He is the greatest gambler,' Stone said sourly. 'And so far he has had the greatest luck.'

I tried to change the subject.

'Ah, loyalty,' observed Stone. 'Not a bad quality. But it is possible to be loyal and critical at the same time. They are two qualities I insist on, in fact. The sycophant is the greatest of all dangers in an organisation. I have never fired a man for disagreeing with me. I have dismissed several for agreeing when they knew better.'

'On that subject, what exactly would my position be?' I asked a little crossly. 'Do I run the risk of being summoned back to England because I agree with you about something?'

'I will have no say in the matter at all,' he replied evenly. 'You are to work for Mr Wilkinson, not me. I merely provide the means for you to do so. As an experiment. Obviously, if Mr Wilkinson decides the experiment is not working, or that it costs more than it is worth, then we will have to think again.'

'Why are you providing the means? It is a very great deal of money.'

'Not so very much,' he said. 'And it is money I can easily spare. I thought your approach was interesting, and amateurism annoys me wherever it occurs. I almost consider it my duty to eradicate it. And if not my duty, then my hobby.'

'An expensive hobby.'

He shrugged

'So expensive I do not quite believe you.'

'Call me a patriot, then.'

'I know little of your companies, Mr Stone. Such things are not my area of expertise. But I remember reading that you have supplied weapons to every single enemy our army and navy might face. Are those the actions of a patriot?'

It was an insulting remark, but deliberately made. I needed to find out what I was getting myself into.

'It is not the task of my companies to make Britain more secure, it is the duty of Britain to make my companies more secure. You have the relationship the wrong way round,' he said quietly. 'It is the task of a company to generate capital. That is its beginning and its end, and it is foolish and sentimental to apply morality to it, let alone patriotism.'

'Morality must apply to everything. Even the making of money.'

'A strange statement for a banker, if I may say so. And it is not so. Morality applies only to people. Not to animals and still less to machines.'

'But you are a man,' I pointed out, 'you manufacture weapons of war, which you sell to all who want to buy them.'

'Not quite,' he said with a smile. 'They must be able to afford them as well. But you are right. I do. But consider. If one of my torpedoes is fired, and hits its target, many people will die. A terrible thing. But is the torpedo to blame? It is but a machine, designed to travel from point A to point B and then detonate. If it does so, it is a good machine which fulfils its purpose. If not, it is a failure. Where is there any space for morality in that?