that of his
host and prospective victim, while Carrington was close by, so that the
two seemed ranked against the one. A close student of types would have
had no hesitation in declaring Morton to be much the more intelligent
and crafty of the two visitors. He appeared the familiar shrewd, smooth,
well-groomed New Yorker, excellently preserved for all his sixty-five
years; one who could be at will persuasive and genial, or hard as steel.
In his evening dress, he showed to advantage, and his manner toward
Hamilton was gently paternal, as that of an old family friend who has
chanced in for a pleasant hour with the son of a former intimate.
Carrington, on the contrary, was of the grosser type of successful
business man. A frock-coat sufficed him for the evening always. There
was about him in every way a heaviness that indicated he could not be a
leader, only a follower after the commands of wiser men. But, in such
following, he would be of powerful executive ability.

[Illustration]

"Do you know," Morton was saying, "it's really a great personal pleasure
for me to come here, Hamilton, my boy. It reminds me of the many times
when I used to sit here with your father." As he ceased speaking, he
smiled benevolently on the young man opposite him.

Hamilton nodded, without much appearance of graciousness. He was more
than suspicious as to the sincerity of this man's kindly manner.

"Yes, I know," he said. "You and he had many dealings together, I
believe, didn't you, Mr. Morton?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," came the ready answer; "many and many. He was a
shrewd trader, was your father. It's a pity he cannot be here to know
what a promising young man of business his son has become. He would be
proud of you, my boy."

"Thank you, Mr. Morton," Hamilton responded. "For that matter, I myself
wish that Dad were here just now to help me."

Again, the visitor smiled, and with a warm expansiveness that was meant
to indicate a heart full of generous helpfulness.

"You don't need him, my boy," he declared, unctuously. "You are dealing
with an old friend."

Carrington nodded in ponderous corroboration of the statement.

"Of course not, of course not!" he rumbled, in a husky bass voice.

Hamilton let irritation run away with discretion. He spoke with
something that was very like a sneer:

"I thought possibly that was just why I might need him."

Morton seemed not to hear the caustic comment. At any rate, he blandly
ignored it, as he