"So that's it, is it?" Fischer scoffed. "A rich brother-in-law coming along, eh? … No, don't do that," stepping quickly backwards as Van Teyl's fist shot out.
"Then keep my sister's name out of this conversation," Van Teyl insisted. "If you are wise, you'll clear out altogether. They're at it again."
Fischer, however, glanced at the clock and remained. At the next lull, he hung down the tape and turned to his companion.
"Say, there's no use quarrelling, James," he declared. "I'm going to leave you to it now. Guess I said a little more than I meant to, but I tell you I hate that fellow Lutchester. I hate him just as though I were the typical German and he were the typical Britisher, and there was nothing but a sea of hate between us. Shake hands, Jim."
Van Teyl obeyed without enthusiasm. Fischer drew a chair to the table and wrote out a cheque, which he passed across.
"I'll drop into the bank and let them know about this," he said. "You can make up accounts and let me hear how the balance stands. I'll wipe it out by return, whatever it is."
Fischer passed out of the offices a few minutes later, followed by many curious eyes, and stepped into his automobile. A young man who had brushed against him pushed a note into his hand. Fischer opened it as his car swung slowly through the traffic:—
Guards at all Connecticut factories doubled. O'Hagan caught last night in precincts of small arms factory. Was taken alive, disobeying orders. Be careful.
Fischer tore the note into small pieces. His face was grimmer than ever as he leaned back amongst the cushions. There were evil things awaiting him outside Wall Street.