"Oh, come! He has been no better than a loafer around here as far back
as any of us can remember."

"Yes, he said he was looking for facts. Well, he's got hold of one that
will do for all of us," commented a bitter voice.

"That's what they call development--and be hanged to it!" muttered
another.

Never was Heyst talked about so much in the tropical belt before.

"Isn't he a Swedish baron or something?"

"He, a baron? Get along with you!"

For my part I haven't the slightest doubt that he was. While he was
still drifting amongst the islands, enigmatical and disregarded like an
insignificant ghost, he told me so himself on a certain occasion. It
was a long time before he materialized in this alarming way into the
destroyer of our little industry--Heyst the Enemy.

It became the fashion with a good many to speak of Heyst as the Enemy.
He was very concrete, very visible now. He was rushing all over the
Archipelago, jumping in and out of local mail-packets as if they had
been tram-cars, here, there, and everywhere--organizing with all his
might. This was no mooning about. This was business. And this sudden
display of purposeful energy shook the incredulity of the most
sceptical more than any scientific demonstration of the value of these
coal-outcrops could have done. It was impressive. Schomberg was the
only one who resisted the infection. Big, manly in a portly style,
and profusely bearded, with a glass of beer in his thick paw, he would
approach some table where the topic of the hour was being discussed,
would listen for a moment, and then come out with his invariable
declaration:

"All this is very well, gentlemen; but he can't throw any of his
coal-dust in my eyes. There's nothing in it. Why, there can't be
anything in it. A fellow like that for manager? Phoo!"

Was it the clairvoyance of imbecile hatred, or mere stupid tenacity of
opinion, which ends sometimes by scoring against the world in a most
astonishing manner? Most of us can remember instances of triumphant
folly; and that ass Schomberg triumphed. The T.B.C. Company went into
liquidation, as I began by telling you. The Tesmans washed their hands
of it. The Government cancelled those famous contracts, the talk died
out, and presently it was remarked here and there that Heyst had faded
completely away. He had become invisible, as in those early days when
he used to make a bolt clear out of sight in his attempts to break away
from the enchantment of "