e silent,
guarded baron of the railroads. He dropped the locket into the box,
closed it. "The automobile," said his secretary. Norcross nodded, and
indicated the box. The secretary bore it away.

"Come up to dinner Tuesday," said Norcross in his normal tone. But his
voice quavered a little for a moment as he added:

"You're good at forgetting?"

"Possessor of the best forgettery you ever saw," responded Bulger.
Forthwith, they turned to speech of the railroad rate bill.

* * * * *

When, after a mufti dinner at the club, Bulger reached his bachelor
apartments, he found a telegram. The envelope bore his office address;
by that sign he knew, even before he unfolded the yellow paper, that it
was the important telegram from his partner, the crucial telegram, for
which he had been waiting these two days. It must have come to the
office after he left. He got out the code book from his desk, laid it
open beside the sheet, and began to decipher, his face whitening as he
went on:

BUTTE, MONT.

Reports of expert phony. Think Oppendike salted it on him. They
will finish this vein in a month. Then the show will bust.
Federated Copper Company will not bite and too late now to unload
on public. Something must be done. Can't you use your drag with
Norcross somehow?

WATSON.

Bulger, twisting the piece of yellow paper, stared out into the street.
His "drag with Norcross!" What had that ever brought, what could it
ever bring, except advertising and vague standing? Yet Norcross by a
word, a wink, could give him information which, rightly used, would
cancel all the losses of this unfortunate plunge in the Mongolia Mine.
But Norcross would never give that word, that wink; and to fish for it
were folly. Norcross never broke the rules of the lone game which he
played.

As Bulger stood there, immovable except for the nervous hands which
still twisted and worried the telegram, he saw a sign on the building
opposite. The first line, bearing the name, doubtless, was illegible;
the second, fully legible, lingered for a long time merely in his
perceptions before it reached and touched his consciousness.

"CLAIRVOYANT," it read.

He started, leaned on a table as though from weakness, and continued to
stare at the sign.

"Who is the cleverest fakir in that business?" he said at length to
himself.

And then, after a few intent minutes:

"When he was a freight clerk--thi