th her engine running, and leaning upon the wheel, as
unconscious of his surroundings as though he sat at his own fireplace,
a young man who frowned and stared at nothing. The half-hour passed
and the young man swung his car back toward the city. But at the first
road-house that showed a blue-and-white telephone sign he left it, and
into the iron box at the end of the bar dropped a nickel. He wished to
communicate with Mr. Carroll, of Carroll and Hastings; and when he
learned Mr. Carroll had just issued orders that he must not be
disturbed, the young man gave his name.

The effect upon the barkeeper was instantaneous. With the aggrieved
air of one who feels he is the victim of a jest he laughed scornfully.

"What are you putting over?" he demanded.

The young man smiled reassuringly. He had begun to speak and, though
apparently engaged with the beer-glass he was polishing, the barkeeper
listened.

Down in Wall Street the senior member of Carroll and Hastings also
listened. He was alone in the most private of all his private offices,
and when interrupted had been engaged in what, of all undertakings, is
the most momentous. On the desk before him lay letters to his lawyer,
to the coroner, to his wife; and hidden by a mass of papers, but within
reach of his hand, was an automatic pistol. The promise it offered of
swift release had made the writing of the letters simple, had given him
a feeling of complete detachment, had released him, at least in
thought, from all responsibilities. And when at his elbow the
telephone coughed discreetly, it was as though some one had called him
from a world from which already he had made his exit.

Mechanically, through mere habit, he lifted the receiver.

The voice over the telephone came in brisk, staccato sentences.

"That letter I sent this morning? Forget it. Tear it up. I've been
thinking and I'm going to take a chance. I've decided to back you
boys, and I know you'll make good. I'm speaking from a road-house in
the Bronx; going straight from here to the bank. So you can begin to
draw against us within an hour. And--hello!--will three millions see
you through?"

From Wall Street there came no answer, but from the hands of the
barkeeper a glass crashed to the floor.

The young man regarded the barkeeper with puzzled eyes.

"He doesn't answer," he exclaimed. "He must have hung up."

"He must have fainted!" said the barkeeper.

The white-haired one pushed a