in the forest's got a good word for, and anyway, it don't seem to
me the feller who jumped in on you, and touched your bank roll is the
sort to pass his time handlin' out tracts to the bums of the forest. I
came in on my way to pass you these things. I go north again to-night.
I'll be away quite a while, and, shut off up there, you'll not be likely
to get word easy. But you'll hear things when I've got anything to hand
you."

A sardonic light crept into Hellbeam's eyes as he listened to the final
assurance.

"So," he ejaculated with a nod.

The agent rose to go.

"Meanwhile," he said, leaning over the desk, "it might be well for you
to get a grip on the fact that Sachigo's going right on. It's the
greatest groundwood proposition in the world. I know enough of Harker to
realise his capacity to make it do just what he needs. And as for that
other--this Sternford kid--why, I gather he's a pretty live wire that's
set there for a reason. The slogan up there's much what it was, only the
words are changed."

Hellbeam sucked his cigar and removed it from his lips.

"Changed? How?" he demanded, without suspicion.

"It was 'Canadian trade for the Canadians,'" Idepski said, his dark eyes
snapping maliciously. "It's more personal since the fighting kid came
along. It reminds me of the German slogans of the war. It's 'To hell
with the Swedes, we'll drive 'em _into_ the sea.'"

The financier nodded. His armour was impenetrable.

"The Germans said much," he said.

"That's all right, these folks aren't Germans," came the prompt retort,
as Idepski picked up his hat and gloves.

"No." Hellbeam remained seated. It was not his way to speed a departing
visitor. "I'm glad. Oh, yes." He smiled into the other's face, and his
meaning was obvious. "You go to this camp. You find this missionary.
That's work for you. The other--" his eyes dropped to the papers on the
desk before him--"this mill, this Sachigo is for me. It is much nearer
to the sea than the Skandinavia. Oh, yes."

CHAPTER V

THE PROGRESS OF NANCY

The girl reached out a hand in response to the ring of the telephone. It
was slim and white; and her finger nails displayed that care which
suggests a healthy regard for the niceties of a woman's life.

"Hullo! Yes?"

She remained silently intent upon the rapidly spoken message coming down
to her over the wire. Her deep, hazel eyes were soberly regarding the
blotting pad, upon which an idle pencil was describ