'I said, it's going slowly. But it's a complicated issue. A lot of money. There are bound to be difficulties.'
'Has Credit International refused?'
'Certainly not.'
'Has it accepted?'
'Not yet. They say they are having administrative difficulties. But they assured me I was not to worry. They will give a definite answer next Thursday morning.'
Next Thursday. In six days' time. That would give two uninterrupted trading days for panic to sweep across the markets, if things worked out as I thought they might.
'Listen,' I said. 'I am not joking. I think a storm is brewing. You must send a telegram to London, so they can prepare.'
He stared, with a particularly unappealing smile of incredulity on his face. 'Warn them? Of what? Of a story heard by a journalist? You expect Lord Revelstoke to give up his weekend because of something you heard at some dowager's party?'
'It's somewhat more than that.'
'It doesn't matter. No one can touch Barings. You should know that. And as for sending a telegram, I've never heard anything so absurd in my life. You stick to your actresses, Cort. Leave the serious stuff to people who know what they're about.'
I shrugged. 'Very well. I will do as you say. I heard this and I reported it to you. You can do as you wish with it. You are no doubt correct in your assessment. As you say, you are more experienced than I am.'
'Precisely,' he said with satisfaction. 'And don't think that I am ungrateful for your concern. It was good of you to come in. And if you hear any other titbits in future, don't feel afraid to come and tell me, however ridiculous they are. And you must let me buy you a drink sometime, in payment for your efforts.'
At that moment, the delightful image of Barings sinking with all hands and Felstead being the first to drown, swam before my eyes. I wished the French well.
'Excellent idea,' I said. 'But not today. At the moment you would do me a greater service by letting me have a look at the Stock Exchange notices. I am trying to get something together on France's attitude to dual convertibility. So I need some basic information.
Now he had established his superiority, Felstead was all grace. Fortunately, he did not clap me on the back as he led me to a desk before getting out the bank bulletins. Had he done so I might have spoiled it all by hitting him.
The Stock Exchange daily bulletins are the dreariest of all newspapers; the prices for dozens of government stocks, the prices of innumerable foreign stocks and utilities. The discount rates and interest rates applicable to hundreds of different instruments, in dozens of countries. News of new issues and dividend payments. By carefully considering all of these, a man of sense can make his fortune. So it is said; it was my great weakness as a banker that I never had the slightest interest in any of it. I had forced myself to understand it, but it never brought me the pleasure or satisfaction that it gave to many of my colleagues.
I tortured myself reading columns of numbers and prices and rates, hoping to find some hint of how the second stage of this adventure was going to play out. For there must be a second stage. M. Hubert was right: why do something which could scarcely hurt Barings, and could cost you a lot of money? But if banks across the Continent were indeed co-ordinating a response, something serious was taking place and it could be assumed that it was being organised by people of intelligence.
It took the better part of two hours, but then I had it. And even I was shocked. I had assumed I would find some sort of evidence of a secondary assault on Barings, but in fact it was much more serious than that. So much so that I didn't even look at the relevant figures until late; it never occurred to me it would be important.
Barings wasn't the target. They were aiming at the Bank of England itself.
The figures were clear, once I had noticed them. For the past two months, bullion had been draining out of the Bank. Money was withdrawn, new deposits were not made, or were delayed. The Bank of France, citing the need for gold to pay for a tax shortfall due to a poor harvest, had postponed depositing ten million sterling; the Bank of Russia had withdrawn fifteen million. Commercial banks which ordinarily would keep smaller but substantial quantities of gold on deposit in London had been pulling it out: £100,000 here, £200,000 there. In all – I settled down with pencil and paper and added it up going back six weeks – another seven million had been withdrawn in this way. According to my calculations, the Bank had probably less than four million in bullion in its vaults.
