n his library. The great man had come home earlier
than usual, for he had two important callers to see by appointment
that afternoon. One was Sergeant Ellison, who had to report on his
mission to Massapequa; the other was Miss Shirley Green, the
author of "The American Octopus," who had at last deigned to
honour him with a visit. Pending the arrival of these visitors the
financier was busy with his secretary trying to get rid as rapidly
as possible of what business and correspondence there was on hand.

The plutocrat was sitting at his desk poring over a mass of
papers. Between his teeth was the inevitable long black cigar and
when he raised his eyes to the light a close observer might have
remarked that they were sea-green, a colour they assumed when the
man of millions was absorbed in scheming new business deals. Every
now and then he stopped reading the papers to make quick
calculations on scraps of paper. Then if the result pleased him, a
smile overspread his saturnine features. He rose from his chair
and nervously paced the floor as he always did when thinking
deeply.

"Five millions," he muttered, "not a cent more. If they won't sell
we'll crush them--"

Mr. Bagley entered. Mr. Ryder looked up quickly.

"Well, Bagley?" he said interrogatively. "Has Sergeant Ellison
come?"

"Yes, sir. But Mr. Herts is downstairs. He insists on seeing you
about the Philadelphia gas deal. He says it is a matter of life
and death."

"To him--yes," answered the financier dryly. "Let him come up. We
might as well have it out now."

Mr. Bagley went out and returned almost immediately, followed by a
short, fat man, rather loudly dressed and apoplectic in
appearance. He looked like a prosperous brewer, while, as a matter
of fact, he was president of a gas company, one of the shrewdest
promoters in the country, and a big man in Wall Street. There was
only one bigger man and that was John Ryder. But, to-day, Mr.
Herts was not in good condition. His face was pale and his manner
flustered and nervous. He was plainly worried.

"Mr. Ryder," he began with excited gesture, "the terms you offer
are preposterous. It would mean disaster to the stockholders. Our
gas properties are worth six times that amount. We will sell out
for twenty millions--not a cent less."

Ryder shrugged his shoulders.

"Mr. Herts," he replied coolly, "I am busy to-day and in no mood
for arguing. We'll either buy you out or force you out. Choose.
You have our