o come back to South Tredegar at
speed, overtook him. This is a detail, important only as a marker of
time. For three days a gentleman with shrewd eyes and a hard-bitted jaw,
registering at the Marlboro as "A. Dracott, New York," had been shut up
with Mr. Duxbury Farley in the most private of the company's offices in
the Coosa Building, and on the fourth day Norman had made shift to find
out this gentleman's business. Whereupon the wire to Tom, already on his
way to New York, and the prayer for returning haste.

Tom caught a slow train back, and was met at a station ten miles out of
town by his energetic ex-lieutenant.

"Of course, I didn't dare do anything more than give him a hint," was
the conclusion of Norman's exciting report. "I didn't know but he might
give us away to Colonel Duxbury. So, without telling him much of
anything, I got him to agree to meet you at his rooms in the Marlboro
to-night after dinner. Then I was scared crazy for fear my wire to you
would miss."

"You are a white man, Fred, and a friend to tie to," said Tom; which was
more than he had ever said to Norman by way of praise in the days of
master and man. Then, as the train was slowing into the South Tredegar
station: "If this thing wins out, you'll come in for something bigger
than you had with Gordon and Gordon; you can bet on that."

It was ordained that Gordon should anticipate his appointment by
meeting his man at the dinner-table in the Marlboro cafe; and it was
accident or design, as you like to believe, that Dyckman should be
sitting two tables away, choking over his food and listening only by the
road of the eye, since he was unhappily out of ear range. When the two
had lighted their cigars and passed out to the elevator, the bookkeeper
rose hastily and made for the nearest telephone. This, at least, was not
accidental.

The conference in Suite 32 lasted until nearly midnight, with Dyckman
painfully shadowing the corridor and sweating like a furnace laborer,
though the night was more than autumn cool. The door was thick, the
transom was closed, and the keyhole commanded nothing but a square of
blank wall opposite in the electric-lighted sitting-room of the suite.
Hence the bookkeeper could only guess what we may know.

"You have let in a flood of light on Mr. Farley's proposition, Mr.
Gordon," said the representative of American Aqueduct, when the ground
had been thoroughly gone over. "I don't mind telling you now that he
made hi