which he held up for Varr's inspection, and at a nod of his
head, his two companions also produced money from their trousers.
Simon glanced at it and sneered.

"Found a union to support you, eh?"

"No, sir, not that. To tell the truth, Mr. Varr, there don't seem to
be any good reason to tell you where this came from, or how it came,
but we feel in duty bound to say it brought with it a message for you."

"A message? For me?" Simon repeated the phrases quickly, his mind
alert for new alarms. "Well, what was it? Get it out!"

"We were told to tell you that while we held out against you we could
count on getting money for our needs from the 'Black Monk'."

"The Black Monk!" Simon fell back a pace as he whispered the words.
"The Black Monk! What--what do you mean?"

"That's all we can tell you, sir." Maple fumbled with his cap and
coughed nervously. "We'll ask you again, sir, as in duty bound to our
comrades, if you'll help us come to a compromise--"

"_No_!"

The committee shrank back from the explosive quality of the
monosyllable that was like a door slammed in their faces.

"Very well, sir, then we'll wish you good day--and a kinder heart for
your fellowmen."

"Stop!"

Sheer anger at this latest evidence of his enemy's activity had swept
Simon Varr beyond self-control, beyond reasoning and beyond decency.
He launched upon the stolid committee a rushing torrent of insult and
invective. The veneer of dignity that had come to him with wealth and
position slipped from him, as the old skin slips from a snake, and he
went back to the vocabulary of his youth for terms sufficiently
blasphemous and obscene to express his opinion of the strike, the
strikers, the committee and its sponsors. He did not stop until his
breath failed and left him panting.

The two men in the small office listened to that tirade in embarrassed
silence. Jason Bolt fidgeted in his chair and grew pink to the tips of
his ears. Herman Krech, as became a tactful bystander, gazed at the
floor, stared at the ceiling, studied the glowing tip of his cigar,
peered through the grimy window at the uninspiring view of Hambleton
and generally comported himself with discretion and _savoir faire_.
Inwardly, he was wondering if he had any right to inflict this
termagant tanner on his unsuspecting friend, the detective. Not by a
jugful, unless the mutt had a mighty interesting case--

"I think," said Simon Varr, reentering his office, "I thi