tranglehold. He felt himself lifted like a child, and presently
discovered that he was being whirled along the street in a closed
carriage.

"You needn't be alarmed, Mr. Eaton. We're not going to injure you in
the least," a low voice explained in his ear. "If you'll give me your
word not to cry out, I'll release your throat."

Eaton nodded a promise, and, when he could find his voice, demanded:
"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see in a minute, sir. It's all right."

The carriage turned into an alley and stopped. Eaton was led to a
ladder that hung suspended from the fire-escape, and was bidden to
mount. He did so, following his guide to the second story, and being in
turn followed by the other man. He was taken along a corridor and into
the first of a suite of rooms opening into it. He knew he was in the
Mesa House, and suspected at once that he was in the apartments of
Simon Harley.

His suspicion ripened to conviction when his captors led him through
two more rooms, into one fitted as an office. The billionaire sat at a
desk, busy over some legal papers he was reading, but he rose at once
and came forward with hand extended to meet Eaton. The young man took
his hand mechanically.

"Glad to have the pleasure of talking with, you, Mr. Eaton. You must
accept my apologies for my methods of securing a meeting. They are
rather primitive, but since you declined to call and see me, I can hold
only you to blame." An acid smile touched his lips for a moment, though
his eyes were expressionless as a wall. "Mr. Eaton, I have brought you
here in this way to have a confidential talk with you, in order that it
might not in any way reflect upon you in case we do not come to an
arrangement satisfactory to both of us. Your friends cannot justly
blame you for this conference, since you could not avoid it. Mr. Eaton,
take a chair."

The wills of the two men flashed into each other's eyes like rapiers.
The weaker man knew that was before him and braced himself to meet it.
He would not sit down. He would not discuss anything. So he told
himself once and again to hold himself steady against the impulse to
give way to those imperious eyes behind which was the impassive,
compelling will.

"Sit down, Mr. Eaton."

"I'll stand, Mr. Harley."

"SIT DOWN."

The cold jade eyes were not to be denied. Eaton's gaze fell sullenly,
and he slid into a chair.

"I'll discuss no business except in the presence of Mr. Ridgway," he
said do