CHAPTER 13

The _Cossack_, with its great turbines purring like a sleeping kitten,
and its twin screws turning lazily, almost imperceptibly in the dark
waters, moved through the frosty night like a cloud brooding over the
deep. Yet it was a cloud of tremendous potentiality, enwrapping a
spirit of energy incarnate. From far aloft its burning eye pierced a
channel of light through the murky darkness ahead. In its wake it drew
a swell of sparkling phosphorescence, which it carelessly tossed off
on either side as a Calif might throw handfuls of glittering coins to
his fawning beggars. From somewhere in the structure above, the
crackling, hissing wireless mechanism was thrusting its invisible
hands out into the night and catching the fleeting messages that were
borne on the intangible pulsations of the mysterious ether. From time
to time these messages were given form and body, and despatched to the
luxurious suite below, where, in the dazzling sheen of silver and cut
glass, spread out over richest napery, and glowing beneath a torrent
of white light, sat the gigantic being whose will directed the
movements of this floating palace.

"You see, Lafelle, I look upon religion with the eye of the
cold-blooded business man, without the slightest trace of sentimentalism.
From the business standpoint, the Protestant Church is a dead failure.
It doesn't get results that are in any way commensurate with its
investment. But your Church is a success--from the point of dollars and
cents. In fact, in the matter of forming and maintaining a monopoly, I
take off my hat to the Vatican. You fellows have got us all beaten.
Every day I learn something of value by studying your methods of
operating upon the public. And so you see why I take such pleasure in
talking with really astute churchmen like yourself."

Monsignor Lafelle studied the man without replying, uncertain just
what interpretation to put upon the remark. The Japanese servant was
clearing away the remnants of the meal, having first lighted the
cigars of the master and guest.

"Now," continued Ames, leaning back in his luxurious chair and musing
over his cigar, "the purgatory idea is one of the cleverest schemes
ever foisted upon the unthinking masses, and it has proved a veritable
Klondike. Gad! if I could think up and put over a thing like that I'd
consider myself really possessed of brains."

Lafelle's eyes twinkled. "I fear, Mr. Ames," he replied adroitly, "you
do not k