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- Джозеф Конрад
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"
Is
that
the
right
name
?
"
Charles
Gould
said
,
from
the
middle
of
the
room
.
"
I
mean
,
going
to
the
roots
,
you
know
,
"
the
engineer
explained
,
with
an
air
of
enjoyment
.
"
Why
,
yes
,
"
Charles
pronounced
,
slowly
.
"
The
Gould
Concession
has
struck
such
deep
roots
in
this
country
,
in
this
province
,
in
that
gorge
of
the
mountains
,
that
nothing
but
dynamite
shall
be
allowed
to
dislodge
it
from
there
It
's
my
choice
.
It
's
my
last
card
to
play
.
"
The
engineer-in-chief
whistled
low
.
"
A
pretty
game
,
"
he
said
,
with
a
shade
of
discretion
.
"
And
have
you
told
Holroyd
of
that
extraordinary
trump
card
you
hold
in
your
hand
?
"
"
Card
only
when
it
's
played
;
when
it
falls
at
the
end
of
the
game
.
Till
then
you
may
call
it
a
--
a
--
"
"
Weapon
,
"
suggested
the
railway
man
.
"
No
.
You
may
call
it
rather
an
argument
,
"
corrected
Charles
Gould
,
gently
.
"
And
that
's
how
I
've
presented
it
to
Mr.
Holroyd
.
"
"
And
what
did
he
say
to
it
?
"
asked
the
engineer
,
with
undisguised
interest
.
"
He
"
--
Charles
Gould
spoke
after
a
slight
pause
--
"
he
said
something
about
holding
on
like
grim
death
and
putting
our
trust
in
God
.
I
should
imagine
he
must
have
been
rather
startled
.
But
then
"
--
pursued
the
Administrador
of
the
San
Tome
mine
--
"
but
then
,
he
is
very
far
away
,
you
know
,
and
,
as
they
say
in
this
country
,
God
is
very
high
above
.
"
