"Nothing new," he said. "It's getting to be an old story. Every evening paper in the city copied that fellow Hawkins' yarn in The Times about the sea fight at Diablo Island. Why, that man Gregory has enough free publicity to elect him to Congress. And he's advertising on the strength of it, like a department store. I was around to his service market a few minutes ago and people were fighting to get within shouting distance of the counter. I'd say he was a mighty good bet right now, Dupont. That stuff has the town all lit up. If his output is anywhere near up to standard I'd say it would be good business to tie him up and beat the others to it."
As Mr. Dupont was about to speak, the telephone bell interrupted.
"Yes," he answered. "On the phone. Hello, Dalton.—What's that?—Yes, I get you.—How's the stuff?—It is, eh? How's that?—I see.—What do you think?—You would?—All right, Dalton. Sure, go ahead. Drop in at the apartments when you get back. I want to have a look at that contract."
Mr. Dalton hung up the instrument and faced about. "You win," he exclaimed. "Caught the old man just right. He'd have given me a month's vacation on full pay if I'd have had the nerve to have asked for it." He wrote the check hurriedly as he spoke and passed it over to Gregory with the words: "And now, don't forget that you still have the contract to sign."
Gregory took the check with shaking fingers, at a loss for words to express fittingly his appreciation of the favor.
A moment later the door opened and Silvanus Rock entered with two strangers. The financier was on time. In another few seconds the hands of the watch would be pointing to four o'clock. Rock's beady eyes opened wider as he took in the occupants of the room.
"I regret that circumstances have forced upon me a very unpleasant duty," he began, but Gregory cut him short.
"They haven't," he said. "You guessed wrong this time, Mr. Rock. You've come for your money. Here it is."