has hung, and here I've sat and waited. And now the time has come.'
'You mean?' Francis queried quietly.
'Just that,' Regan snarled. 'I'v,e waited and worked for this day, and the day has come. I've got the whelp where I want him at any rate.' He glanced up maliciously at the picture. 'And if that don't make the old gent turn in his grave…'
Francis rose to his feet and regarded his enemy curiously. 'No,' he said, as if in soliloquy, 'it isn't worth it.' 'What isn't worth what?' the other demanded with swift suspicion.
'Beating you up,' was the cool answer. 'I could kill you with my hands in five minutes. You're no Wolf. You're just mere yellow dog, the part of you that isn't plain skunk. They told me to expect this of you; but I didn't believe, and I came to see. They were right. You were all that they said. Well, I must get along out of this. It smells like a den of foxes. It stinks.'
He paused with his hand on the door knob and looked back. He had not succeeded in making Regan lose his temper.
'And what are you going to do about it?' the latter jeered.
'If you'll permit me to get my broker on your 'phone maybe you'll learn,' Francis replied.
'Go to it, my laddy buck,' Regan conceded, then, with a wave of suspicion, 'I'll get him for you myself.'
And, having ascertained that Bascom was really at the other end of the line, he turned the receiver over to Francis. 'You were right,' the latter assured Bascom. 'Regan's all you said and worse. Go right on with your plan of campaign. We've got him where we want him, though the old fox won't believe it for a moment. He thinks he's going to strip me, clean me out.' Francis paused to think up the strongest way of carrying on his bluff, then continued. 'I'll tell you something you don't know. He's the one who manoauvred the raid from the beginning. So now you know who we're going to bury.'
And, after a little more of similar talk, he hung up. 'You see,' he explained, again from the door, 'you were so crafty that we couldn't make out who it was. Why hell, Regan, we were prepared to give a walloping to some unknown that had several times your strength. And now that it's you, it's easy. We were prepared to strain. But with you it will be a walk-over. To-morrow, around this time, there's going to be a funeral right Here in your office and you're not going to be one of the mourners. You're going to be the corpse and a not-nice looking financial corpse you'll be when we get done with you.'
'The dead spit of E.H.M.,' the Wolf grinned. 'Lord, how he could pull off a bluff!'
'It's a pity he didn't bury you and save me all the trouble,' was Francis' parting shot.
'And all the expense,' Regan flung after him. 'It's going to be pretty expensive for you, and there isn't going to be any funeral from this place.'
'Well, to-morrow's the day,' Francis delivered to Bascom, as they parted that evening. 'This time tomorrow I'll be a perfectly nice scalped and skinned and sun-dried and smoke-cured specimen for Regan's private collection. But who'd have believed the old^ skunk had it in for me! I never harmed him. On the contrary, I always considered him father's best friend. If Charley Tippery could only come through with some of the Tippery surplus coin…'
'Or if the United States would only declare a moratorium,' Bascom hoped equally hopelessly.
And Regan, at that moment, was saying to his assembled agents and rumor-factory specialists:
'Sell! Sell! Sell all you've got and then sell short. I see no bottom to this market!'
And Francis, on his way up town, buying the last extra, scanned the five-inch-lettered head-line:
'I SEE NO BOTTOM TO THIS MARKET— THOMAS BEGAN.'
But Francis was not at his house at eight next tmorning to meet Charley Tippery. It had been a night in which official Washington had not slept, and the night-wires had carried the news out over the land that the United States, though not at war, had declared its moratorium. Wakened out of his bed at seven by Bascom in person, who brought the news, Francis had accompanied him down town. The moratorium had given them hope, and there was much to do.
Charles Tippery, however, was not the first to arrive at the Biverside Drive palace. A few minutes before eight, Parker was very much disturbed and perturbed when Henry and Leoncia, much the worse for sunburn and travel-stain, brushed past the second butler who had opened the door.
'It's no use you're coming in this way,' Parker assured them. 'Mr. Morgan is not at home.'
'Where's he gone?' Henry demanded, shifting the suitcase he carried to the other hand. 'We've got to see him pronto, and I'll have you know that pronto means quick. And who in hell are you?'
'I am Mr. Morgan's confidential valet,' Parker answered solemnly. 'And who are you?'
'My name's Morgan,' Henry answered shortly, looking about in quest of something, striding to the library, glancing in, and discovering the telephones. 'Where's Francis? With what number can I call him up?'
'Mr. Morgan left express instructions that nobody was to telephone him except on important business.'
'Well, my business is important. What's the number?'
'Mr. Morgan is very busy to-day,' Parker reiterated stubbornly.
'He's in a pretty bad way, eh?' Henry quizzed.
The valet's face remained expressionless.
'Looks as though he was going to be cleaned out to-day, Parker's face betrayed neither emotion nor intelligence.
'For a second time I tell you he is very busy…' he began.
'Hell's bells!' Henry interrupted. 'It's no secret. The market's got him where the hair is short. Everybody knows that. A lot of it was in the morning papers. Now come across, Mr. Confidential Valet. I want his number. I've got important business with him myself.'
But Parker remained obdurate.
'What's his lawyer's name? Or the name of his agent? Or of any of his representatives?'
Parker shook his head.
'If you will tell me the nature of your business with him,' the valet essayed.
Henry dropped the suit-case and made as if about to leap upon the other and shake Francis' number out of him. But Leoncia intervened.
'Tell him,' she said.
'Tell him!' Henry shouted, accepting her suggestion. 'I'll do better than that. I'll show him. Here, come on, you.' He strode into the library, swung the suit-case on the reading table, and began opening it. 'Listen to me, Mr. Confidential Valet. Our business is the real business. We're going to save Francis Morgan. We're going to pull him out of the hole. We've got millions for him, right here inside of this thing-'
Parker, who had been looking on with cold, disapproving eyes, recoiled in alarm at the last words. Either the strange callers were lunatics, or cunning criminals. Even at that moment, while they held him here with their talk of millions, confederates might be ransacking the upper parts of the house. As for the suit-case, for all he knew it might be filled with dynamite.
'Here!'
With a quick reach Henry had caught him by the collar as he turned to flee. With his other hand, Henry lifted the cover, exposing a bushel of uncut gems. Parker showed plainly that he was overcorne, although Henry failed to guess the nature of his agitation.
'Thought I'd convince you,' Henry exulted. 'Now be good dog and give me his number.'
'Be seated, sir… and madame,' Parker murmured, with polite bows and a successful effort to control himself. 'Be seated, please. I have left the private number in Mr. Morgan's bedroom, which he gave to me this morning when I helped him dress. I shall be gone but a moment to get it. In the meantime please be seated.'
Once outside the library, Parker became a most active, clear-thinking person. Stationing the second footman at the front door, he placed the first one to watch at the library door. Several other servants he sent scouting into the upper regions on the chance of surprising possible confederates at their nefarious work. Himself he addressed, via the butler's telephone, to the nearest police station.
'Yes, sir,' he repeated to the desk sergeant. 'They are either a couple of lunatics or criminals. Send a patrol wagon at once, please, sir. Even now I do not know what horrible crimes are being committed under this roof…'
In the meantime, in response at the front door, the second footman, with visible relief, admitted Charley Tippery, clad in evening dress at that early hour, as a known and tried friend of the master. The first butler, with similar relief, to which he added sundry winks and warnings, admitted him into the library.
