ent merrily and
well. It was nearing noon when a lull came; I was sitting back in my
chair enjoying the sudden cessation of clatter and buzzing, thinking
that after all my forebodings our ship was headed right for harbor and
in a few moments would be across the bar and into smooth water, when a
sharp ring at the telephone summoned me back to attention. 'Twas from 26
Broadway, from whom it doesn't matter for the purpose of this story.
Suffice it to say that it was from one who, because of past acts of
mine, would make any sacrifice to warn me of danger. Only a few words,
for he who sends secret messages from the mysterious depths of 26
Broadway, even to dwellers on its threshold, is wise in remembering that
brevity is the essence of safety--but were few words ever charged with
such damnable import? This is what I heard:

"Mr. Stillman has just left Mr. Rogers and there is deviltry afoot. You
cannot get to him any too quick." "One word of its nature?" I whispered
back. "They are going to grab more than five millions of the
subscription money."

I hung up the receiver. The face of my world had changed. To choke back
the passion of fury that rose in my throat I went over to the open
window and looked out at the brilliant world below, at the procession of
pleasure carriages rolling up and down the Avenue, the sunlight flashing
from gold-mounted harness and shining on the sleek, polished flanks of
splendid horses. A gay rumble of traffic, the murmur of voices, the
clangor of street-car bells were borne in to me on the mellow air. But
for me the light had fled and the May world was black and freezing cold.

The grim agony of that moment's silence I shall never forget. I jumped
for the door; a second's delay to tell my secretary to catch me with any
important messages at Mr. Rogers' office, and I was flying down Fifth
Avenue through Washington Square, and down the back streets my cabby
knew so well how to make time on. When the recording angel calls off
page after page of my life-book and comes to the black one covering that
ride, I fear 'twill be no easy task excusing the murderous passion that
filled my heart and the poison-steeped curses my lips involuntarily
formed. After an eternity I was at 26 Broadway. I flew to the elevator,
was on the eleventh floor in an instant, bolted by Fred, the colored
usher who guards Mr. Rogers' sanctum, and strode, without knock or
announcement, into the large private office beyond. Mr. Roge