ecting it to his will. Would his mastery be
proven in this other and more personal affair? He set his teeth and
redoubled his efforts, intent on proving his own power to himself. Even
as Napoleon believed in his star, Gard trusted in his luck, and it was
with a smothered laugh of sardonic satisfaction that news of the first
move in his campaign came over the wire.

"My man has tipped his hand," came Brencherly's voice. "The other one is
more than interested--excited. Make your cast and you get a bite on your
picture bait."

Gard telephoned his orders to several brokers to sell and sell quickly
and make no secret of it, then returned to work with a laugh upon his
lips.

Contrary to his habit he remained in his office during the luncheon
hour, having a tray sent in. He was to remain invisible. Mahr would
doubtless make every effort to find him by what might appear accident.
Later a message, asking him to join a bridge game at the Metropolitan
Club, caused him to chuckle. His would-be host was a friend of Mahr's.
He answered curtly that he was sick of wasting his time at cards, and
had decided to drop it for a while, hanging up the receiver so abruptly
that the conversation ceased in the midst of a word. An hour later Mahr
addressed him over the wire.

"Ah, Gard, is that you? I called you up to tell you the Heim Vandyke has
just been sent up to me. I hear you were interested in it yourself,
though you saw only the photograph. Don't you want to stop in on your
way uptown and see it? It's a gem. You'll be sorry you didn't bid on it.
But, joking aside, you're the connoisseur whose opinion I want. I don't
give a continental about the dealers; they'll fill you up with
anything." Gard growled a brief acceptance. "I'll be glad to see you.
Good-by."

Abruptly he terminated his interviews and conferences, adjourning all
business till the following day. Mentioning an hour when, if necessary,
he might be found in his home, he dismissed his officials, slipped into
his overcoat, secured his hat, turned at the door of his private office,
muttering something about his stick, and, quickly crossing the room,
opened a drawer of his writing table and drew forth a small, snub-nosed
revolver. He hesitated a moment, tossed it back, and squaring his
shoulders strode from the room.

Half an hour later he entered the spacious lobby of Victor Mahr's
ostentatious dwelling.

"Mr. Mahr is expecting you, sir," said the solemn servant, who cond