"You suspect some one—here?" she whispered.
"I don't know, but—I want you to keep your eyes open. The market has been strong lately and we've been buying Independent copper all the way up the line. Ten points more will let us out even, but——" he stopped short as a man's figure passed through the conservatory. It was Anton, the chauffeur.
"What is it, Anton?" he called.
A man with a twisted nose and a shock of black hair appeared at the French window and touched his cap politely. "Looking for a wrench, sir. I'm fixing up the runabout."
"Where's the car?"
"The countess and Mr. Fitz-Brown are out in the car, sir."
"Oh!" said Bob, whereupon the chauffeur, with another salute and a keen glance at the new secretary, withdrew.
"Mr. Baxter," inquired Betty, "isn't there a great risk in buying stock when you don't really pay for it?"
"You mean on a margin? Of course there's a risk. That's what keeps us worried."
"Then—why do you do it?"