"Give it all up," said the countess to Braine. "I tell you, whatever is back of all this is stronger than we are. He knows the organization, and for all we know he may be a ghost."
"I never go back," smiled Braine. "There's something more than the million. There's the sport of the thing. We've been bested in a dozen bouts, and nearly always by a fluke. They have the breaks, as they say out at the Polo Grounds."
"But the time and expense when we might be getting results elsewhere! I tell you, Leo, I'm afraid. It's like always hearing some one behind you and never finding anybody when you turn. I have told you my doubts. I have also asked you to trap that butler, but you've always laughed."
"You are seeing ghosts, Olga. A new man from holy Russia," shrugging, "is coming to-night. Evidently the head over there thinks our contributions of late have not been up to the mark, and they are going to stir us up. I am willing to wager my soul, however, that that box is simply a hoax to befuddle us. Either that or it holds the key. But the rest of them insist that the box must be recovered. When I leave this room to-night I am going over to Riverdale and stalk all by myself. I'm going to get a glimpse of that mysterious stranger. He carries a scar of mine somewhere, for I hit him that night."
The door opened and the executive chamber became silent.
"Count Paroff," boomed the voice of Vroon. "He will present his credentials."
This formality was executed as prescribed by the rules; and Count Paroff was given his chair. He spoke for a while, rather pompously.
"The head organization is not satisfied with its offspring in this Hargreave affair," he said in conclusion. "You are slow."
"Then perhaps you have come with some suggestions for the betterment of our business?" asked Braine ironically.
"Sir, this is not the hour for flippancy," said the agent coldly.