et and Broad Street and New Street are full of curb-stone
blackmailers who knew me when I was struggling with my companies. They
saw me take chances they themselves feared to take. They hounded me,
then. Thank God, I got above them!"

Drew leaned over the table. "A few names," he said. "Something
specific. Who of all of them would be capable of phoning the cemetery,
representing himself to be your family physician and ordering the grave
dug? Who might think of a thing like that?"

"Well, there's Harry Nichols, for instance. He's an ass with a
champagne thirst and a shoestring salary. I threw him out of the house
the other day. He was calling on Loris. Think of that! He's probably
sworn to get me."

"How old is he?"

"About twenty-three--or four! Smokes, drinks and plays golf!"

"Name some others," suggested Drew artfully.

"Morphy!"

"I got him."

"Morphy's brother who escaped when we had Morphy indicted. I don't know
where he is. Then there's Vogel and Vogel's friends. Oh, there's a
pirate crew of them. Some were mixed up in the first Flying Boat
failure. They would all like to see me in Ridgewood Cemetery. I'll fool
them!"

"You've given me Harry Nichols, Morphy, Morphy's brother, Vogel and
Vogel's friends. That's four and a few outsiders. Can you think of any
more?"

"Not at present! One of them is responsible for this letter. I want you
to get busy. If you won't take the case, I'll get an agency that will.
There's plenty!"

"I'll handle it," said Drew, "when it gets to be a case. As it is now,
Mr. Stockbridge----"

"Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr!"

The Magnate started. He lowered his cigar, balanced it on the edge of
the table, and turned slowly in his chair. He leaned over a smaller
table which was littered with bronze ash-trays and inlaid match-boxes.
He lifted the receiver of the insistent telephone. He pressed this to
his ear.

Drew watched him narrowly. The terseness of a static charge of high
voltage was in the great library. The face of the Munition Magnate grew
cold with hauteur. It changed over the seconds to venom and red anger.
His neck purpled. The diaphragm of the telephone instrument hissed its
message. His hand clutched the hard-rubber receiver with white
strength. A click followed as the connection was broken. Stockbridge
dropped the receiver upon the hook. He turned slowly and stared at Drew
with eyes that had aged over the moments. Wrinkles shot from their
corners