"There are no names in this book, my friend; not a single, blessed name. Nobody knows who 8874 is except myself."
He patted the big index affectionately.
"The name is there. When I leave this office it will be behind three depths of steel; when I die it will be burned with me."
He opened the little book again and read. He read steadily for a quarter of an hour in a monotonous, singsong voice, and John Minute slowly sat himself erect and listened with tense face and narrow eyelids to the record. He did not interrupt until the other had finished.
"Half of your facts are lies," he said harshly. "Some of them are just common gossip; some are purely imaginary."
Saul Arthur Mann closed the book and shook his head.
"Everything here," he said, touching the book, "is true. It may not be the truth as you want it known, but it is the truth. If I thought there was a single fact in there which was not true my raison d'être would be lost. That is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Mr. Minute," he went on, and the good-natured little face was pink with annoyance.
"Suppose it were the truth," interrupted John Minute, "what price would you ask for that record and such documents as you say you have to prove its truth?"
The other leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands meditatively.
"How much do you think you are worth, Mr. Minute?"