came back to his desk with
quick, short, energetic strides.

He presented a picture of inflamed wrath. His fleshy, square face was
flushed and almost purple. His small eyes were hot with anger. They
snapped as he launched his harshly spoken verdict. His whole manner
bristled with merciless intolerance.

He was enormously fat, and breathed heavily through clean shaven lips
that protruded sensually. His age was doubtful, but suggested something
under middle life. It was the gross bulk of the man that made it almost
impossible to estimate closely. The only real youth about him was his
dark, well oiled hair which possessed not a sign of greying in it.

He flung himself into the wide chair which gaped to receive him, and
glared at the dark face of his visitor.

"What in the hell do I pay you for?" he cried brutally, lapsing, in his
anger, into that gutteral Teutonic accent which it was his life's object
to avoid. "A wild cat's scheme it was I tell you from the first. You go
to this Sachigo with your men. You think to get this 'sharp' asleep, or
what? You find him wide awake waiting for you to arrive. What then? He
jumps quick. So quick you can't think. You a prisoner are. You go where
he sends you. You live like a swine in the woods. You are made to work
for your food. And a year is gone. A year! Serve you darn right. Oh,
yes. Bah! You quit. You understand? I pay you no more. You are a fool, a
blundering fool. I wash my hands with you."

Idepski sat still, patient, as once before he had sat under the whip
lash of a man's tongue. And he continued smoking till the great banker's
last word was spoken.

Then he stirred, and removed his cigarette from his thin lips.

"That's all right, Mr. Hellbeam," he said coldly. "It seems like you've
a right to all you've said. It seems, I said. But the 'fool' talk." He
shook his head. "My best enemies don't reckon me that--generally. The
game I'm playing has room enough for things that look like blunders. I
allow that. It doesn't matter. You see, I know more of this feller
Martin maybe than you do. I guess he's a mighty big coward, except when
he's got the drop on a feller. I've given him the scare of a lifetime,
and I've unshipped him from his safe anchorage on that darn Labrador
coast. Do you know what's happened? I'll tell you. He's quit Sachigo.
From what I can learn he's sold out his mill to that uncouth hoodlum,
Harker, who was sort of his partner, and quit. Where? I don't know