houlder the responsibility of
disposing of the United States bond issue?" Nevins inquires with a
semblance of interest. "What would that Republic do if it were not for
its public spirited men of wealth? Republics are all right when they are
curbed by the conservative elements, but when the riff-raff gets the
reins in hand, then there is always trouble."

"The days of mob rule in America are over," Golding declares. "It was no
easy matter to wean the people of the fallacious idea that a proletariat
could manage the finances of the country."

"When our mine is in operation you will not have to seek the aid of
England in taking bonds off the hands of the Treasurer of the United
States, will we?" Nevins asks.

"That's just the point," exclaims Golding. They talk on in this strain
until the meal is finished.

"We have ten minutes to get to the terminal," says Nevins, consulting
his watch.

"O, that will be ample time. It only takes five minutes to ride there."

When the train is reached, Golding looks at his watch. "There, I told
you we could make it in five minutes. I am always just on time. Never a
minute too soon or a minute too late. Time is money. Perhaps I am the
wealthiest man in America, if not in the world, because I know the value
of time."

"That certainly is the secret of your success," Nevins declares blandly.

The Special Paris Express is composed of six coaches and the motor; this
train runs at an average speed of sixty-two miles an hour. It is the
fastest train on the continent. So that they may not be disturbed, the
mine promoters have arranged to occupy a private car attached to the
rear of the train. This car they enter. Nevins carries a small
hand-satchel which he declines to give over to the willing porter.

The superintendent of the road is on hand to see that the influential
patrons are properly cared for; he has received his instructions from
the president, who is an intimate friend of James Golding.

The signal is given and the express starts.

In an incredibly short time the tunnel is reached. As the train rushes
into the darkness, Golding notices that the electric lights have not
been turned on.

"Ring for the porter, will you, Mr. Tabort," he asks of Nevins, whom he
knows only as M. Emile Tabort.

"But where is the button? Ah, I have an idea," replies Nevins. "I shall
go into the forward car and find the porter; it will not take a minute."

The car is engulfed in pitchy darkness,