However,
I said nothing. The result was he launched forth again on the
riches of his Venezuelan concession and loaded me down with
"literature," which I crammed into my pocket for future
reference.
My next step was to drop into the office of a Spanish-America
paper whose editor was especially well informed on South American
affairs.
"Do I know Mrs. Ralston?" he repeated, thoughtfully lighting one
of those black cigarettes that look so vicious and are so mild.
"I should say so. I'll tell you a little story about her. Three
or four years ago she turned up in Caracas. I don't know who Mr.
Ralston was--perhaps there never was any Mr. Ralston. Anyhow, she
got in with the official circle of the Castro government and was
very successful as an adventuress. She has considerable business
ability and represented a certain group of Americans. But, if you
recall, when Castro was eliminated pretty nearly everyone who had
stood high with him went, too. It seems that a number of the old
concessionaires played the game on both sides. This particular
group had a man named Vanderdyke on the anti-Castro side. So,
when Mrs. Ralston went, she just quietly sailed by way of Panama
to the other side of the continent, to Peru--they paid her
well--and Vanderdyke took the title role.
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