Old Broadbrim bowed and waited.
"My case is a peculiar one, and, perhaps, a little out of the line of your business. Do you ever play the part of Cerberus, Mr. Broadbrim?"
"Not very often."
"I thought not," smiled the millionaire. "I have no crime for you to unravel, but if things are permitted to drift as they are going just now, you will have a first-class mystery on your hands ere long."
"You do not want me to wait, I see," said Old Broadbrim.
"That is it exactly. I don't care to wait to be foully murdered."
"I would think not. It isn't a very pleasant prospect, but perhaps it is not as bad as you suppose."
"It is very bad. I am in the shadow of death, but I don't care to go into details just now. I want you to guard my person for one year, and if at the end of that time I am still in the land of the living, why, your work ceases."
"It's a strange commission," replied the detective.
"I thought you would call it such. I am to be guarded against an enemy insidious and merciless. I am on the 'black list.'"