ng down his knife and fork.

"I do," Wingate answered. "We are up against each other once more, and,
believe me, Slate, this is going to be the last time."

There was a smouldering fire in Slate's fine eyes. Nevertheless, he
seemed disturbed.

"You're up against a big thing, Wingate," he said. "Peter Phipps has
made good over here. They say that he's coining money in this new
company of his."

"I'm after his blood, all the same," Wingate replied. "We've had several
tussles since--"

Wingate hesitated.

"Since you nearly beat the breath out of his body," Slate interrupted,
with a little shiver.

"Yes, we've had several tussles since then," Wingate repeated, "and we
haven't hurt each other much. This time I think one of us is going under.
Phipps wants to join issue with me in the City. I'm not so sure. I'm out
to break him properly this time, and I am not going to rush in until I
know the ropes."

Slate emptied a glass of wine and leaned forward.

"John," he said, relapsing once more into the familiarity of their early
college days, "you couldn't have set me a job more to my heart than to
have me help in brewing mischief for Peter Phipps. I'm your man, body and
soul--you know that. But you've been a good friend to me--almost the only
one I ever had--and I've got to put this up to you. Peter Phipps is as
clever as the devil. He is up to every trick in this world, and a few
that he probably borrowed from Satan himself. I'm not trying to put you
off. I only want to say this. Go warily. Don't let him lure you on into
risking too much on any one move. Always remember that he has something
up his sleeve."

"That's all right, Slate," he said. "I promise you I'll think out every
move on the board. I shall risk nothing until I can see my way clear
ahead. Meanwhile, you can work on this."

He wrote a few sentences on a sheet of paper, which he folded up and
passed across the table.

"Don't open it now," he said. "Think it over and don't mind putting
suggestions up to me if anything occurs to you. Call here to see me every
morning at ten o'clock. I have a suite in the Court, number eighty-nine.
You've done with business--you understand?"

"Sure!" Slate answered. "Let's talk about that last game you and I were
in against Princeton."

CHAPTER V

Josephine received her altogether unexpected visitor that afternoon with
a certain amount of trepidation, mingled with considerable distaste. Mr.
Peter Phipps' man