All Earth is servant to us two."

He paused again.

"That's it," said John.

"That's a hell of a thing to be thinking about now," said Brennan.

"I know it," John returned.

For several minutes they were silent. John thought he saw Brennan give
Smith a significant glance.

"By the way, Gallant," Brennan asked, "how is your friend, Consuello?"

"I'm to have dinner with her and Gibson the night he is elected mayor,"
John replied, remembering Gibson's invitation.

"Who arranged that?" asked Brennan.

"Gibson."

"I'm afraid we're going to spoil your little dinner party," said
Brennan, smiling.

"That verse you just recited for me doesn't rhyme if you make it 'three'
instead of 'two,'" John countered.

"You win," conceded Brennan. "What time is it getting to be?"

John looked at his watch.

"Quarter to one," he answered. "What if they don't show----"

A shaft of light shot through the darkness from the door. It was the
prearranged signal from Murphy to inform them that Gibson and Cummings
were approaching. As if jerked by cords held in a single hand they
straightened up from their lounging positions.

They heard the door open at the rear above them and footsteps on the
floor, approaching until the noise was directly over their heads. Dust
shook down on them from the grimy ceiling.

Simultaneously they pulled on their headgears and listened.

CHAPTER XX

As clearly and distinctly as though he was at a telephone John heard the
voices of "Gink" Cummings and Gibson in the room above him. Smith began
writing his shorthand record of the conversation they overheard as soon
as the conspirators began talking.

"Well, what's new?" he heard a voice he knew to be Cummings' ask.

"Things are about the same," he heard Gibson reply. "I can't see how
anything can happen now to beat us."

"The newspapers are the only thing that worry me," said Cummings. "Those
damn reporters are never satisfied. They keep digging around until they
stumble across something and then tear things to pieces. What about
them? You haven't heard of anyone of them asking too many questions or
getting suspicious, have you?"

Gibson laughed.

"Forget it, Cummings," he said. "I'll handle the reporters. They're not
half as smart as they think they are and as people give them credit for
being."

In the glare from the electric torch that Brennan focused on Smith's
notebook John saw Brennan wink at him.

"Why, two of them-