“You must not leave your rooms to-morrow. Keep in sight of the Kelly girl,” warned the Frenchwoman. “Now I will steal away.”
There were words murmured which bound the two wretches to each other, and they laughed as they pointed to the janitor’s new telegraphic instrument and telephone.
“A great convenience to the patrons of the Circassia,” laughed Vreeland. He alone knew how deftly the crafty August Helms had seized upon Mrs. Willoughby’s absence of the day to effect the joining of the skilfully hidden wires tapping the lines which led to the Hanover Bank building and joined Judge Endicott’s private office to Mrs. Willoughby’s pearl boudoir.
“When I have the extra instrument in my own room,” he exulted, “then if Miss Romaine Garland is not approachable I will soon find another more malleable.
“But the secret firm of Endicott & Willoughby will talk into my ear when they think that the whole world is theirs. It’s a royal plan,” he mused.
Justine’s gliding step had died away when Harold Vreeland crept out like a guilty thief.
“Where shall I hide this original,” he muttered, as he disappeared in the darkness. “I must find a place in my rooms. I cannot carry it about me.”
When he had regained the Elmleaf he dared hardly breathe as he carefully examined the original document which tied up the fate of the Sugar Syndicate with that of men whose very names he feared to utter.
“She is in my power at last. Her ruin is in my hands.
“And now to bring her into my arms to be my fond tool and willing slave.”