"Yes, you happen to have money," thoughtfully repeated Storm.

"Which--I suppose we may take for granted--you haven't."

"You may take that for granted, Mr. Caspian."

It was now quite evidently a duel between the two men, strangers to each
other and as far apart as one pole from another, yet for some reason
(perhaps unknown, only _felt_, by themselves) instinctively
antagonistic. Jack and I were lost in joy of the encounter, and a glance
at Pat showed me that, schoolgirl as she is, she caught the electric
thrill in the atmosphere. Larry, too, was visibly interested. He'd
opened a box of games on the table where rested his elbow, and taking
out some packs of cards he had mechanically begun to play "Patience"--a
characteristic protest of the spirit against dull discussions of
business, even his own. He would like things to be nicely arranged for
him, I suspected, but he couldn't be bothered with petty details. He
seemed just to take it happily for granted that people ought to be
_glad_ to straighten matters out for a charming "play-boy" like him. The
tone of the two men, however, had suddenly snatched his attention from
the intricacies of Patience (a fascinating new Patience, I noticed). He
was captured, but not, I felt, because of any personal concern he had in
the battle. I did wonder what was passing behind the bright hazel eyes
which moved from Storm's face to Caspian's, and back again.

"Well, then, if I'm to take it for granted that you've no money, where
do you come in?" the late socialist was sharply demanding while my
thoughts wandered.

"I don't come in," said Storm. "I act as Mrs. Shuster's secretary, and
her spokesman. It seems she has no business manager, so my duties may
carry me occasionally in that direction, I begin to see. If she's to
have interests in this affair, I must protect them according to my
judgment. My judgment tells me that they could best be protected by
having an expert for a large shareholder--perhaps the largest. Such a
man would have every incentive to work for the scheme's success. And I
know the right man."

"You do?" Contemptuous incredulity rang in Caspian's emphasis. "Name
him!" This was a challenge.

"Marcel Moncourt."

Ed Caspian laughed a short, hard laugh.

"Marcel Moncourt! Why, that man wouldn't give up his ease to manage a
gilt-edged boarding-house in the country--no, not to please an emperor!"

"Maybe not," said Storm coolly. "There aren't many emperors just now