iring gaze. And the nose and mouth and chin below, as well as his
smooth, hard cheeks, confirmed the impression that he knew very well
what he wished in this world, and was very able without regard to let or
hindrance to get it. It was a big face, impressive, well modeled. He was
an excellent friend of Edward Malia Butler's, as such friendships go,
and his regard for Mark Simpson was as sincere as that of one tiger for
another. He respected ability; he was willing to play fair when fair
was the game. When it was not, the reach of his cunning was not easily
measured.

When Edward Butler and his son arrived on this Sunday evening, this
distinguished representative of one-third of the city's interests was
not expecting them. He was in his library reading and listening to one
of his daughters playing the piano. His wife and his other two daughters
had gone to church. He was of a domestic turn of mind. Still, Sunday
evening being an excellent one for conference purposes generally in the
world of politics, he was not without the thought that some one or other
of his distinguished confreres might call, and when the combination
footman and butler announced the presence of Butler and his son, he was
well pleased.

"So there you are," he remarked to Butler, genially, extending his hand.
"I'm certainly glad to see you. And Owen! How are you, Owen? What will
you gentlemen have to drink, and what will you smoke? I know you'll have
something. John"--to the servitor---"see if you can find something for
these gentlemen. I have just been listening to Caroline play; but I
think you've frightened her off for the time being."

He moved a chair into position for Butler, and indicated to Owen another
on the other side of the table. In a moment his servant had returned
with a silver tray of elaborate design, carrying whiskies and wines of
various dates and cigars in profusion. Owen was the new type of young
financier who neither smoked nor drank. His father temperately did both.

"It's a comfortable place you have here," said Butler, without any
indication of the important mission that had brought him. "I don't
wonder you stay at home Sunday evenings. What's new in the city?"

"Nothing much, so far as I can see," replied Mollenhauer, pacifically.
"Things seem to be running smooth enough. You don't know anything that
we ought to worry about, do you?"

"Well, yes," said Butler, draining off the remainder of a brandy and
soda that had been