which might be
distasteful to you, I was prepared to sell Mr. Phipps my shares in the
Universal Line, imagining it to be an ordinary business transaction. The
cable which you have just read has revealed the true reason why Phipps
desires to acquire those shares. The arrival of that wheat will force
down prices, for a time, at any rate. It may even drive this accursed
company into seeking some other field of speculation. What shall I do?"

She smiled at him over her husband's head. She did not hesitate even for
a second. Her tone was proud and insistent.

"You must of course keep your shares," she declared. "As regards the
other matter, my husband can do as he thinks well."

Wingate's eyes flashed his thanks. He drew a little sigh of relief
and deliberately tore in halves the agreement which he had been
holding. Dredlinton leaned over the desk, snatched at the telephone
receiver, threw himself into his chair, and, glared first at Wingate
and then at his wife.

"My God, then," he exclaimed furiously, "I'll keep my word!--Mayfair
67.--I'll drag you through the dust, my lady," he went on. "You shall be
the heroine of one of those squalid divorce cases you've spoken of so
scornfully. You shall crawl through life a divorcee, made an honest woman
through the generosity of an American adventurer!--67, Mayfair, I said."

Phipps shook his head sorrowfully.

"My friend," he said, "this is useless bluster. Put down the telephone.
Let us talk the matter out squarely. Your methods are a little too
melodramatic."

"Go to hell!" Dredlinton shouted. "You are too much out for compromises,
Phipps. There are times when one must strike.--Exchange! I say, Exchange!
Why the devil can't you give me Mayfair 67?--What's that?--An urgent
call?--Well, go on, then. Out with it.--Who's speaking? Mr. Stanley Rees'
servant?--Yes, yes! I'm Lord Dredlinton. Get on with it."

There was a moment of intense silence. Dredlinton was listening,
indifferently at first, then as though spellbound, his lips a little
parted, his cheeks colourless, his eyes filled with a strange terror.
Presently he laid down the receiver, although he failed to replace it. He
turned very slowly around, and his eyes, still filled with a haunting
fear, sought Wingate's.

"Stanley has disappeared!" he gasped. "He had one of those letters last
night. It lies on his table now, his servant says. There was a noise in
his room at four o'clock this morning. When they called him--