Although ostensibly ignorant of the very existence of Druce, Boland in reality had the man often in his thoughts. He kept these thoughts hidden in that inner chamber of his mind from which, from time to time, emerged those inspirations that had made his name a by-word on La Salle street for supernatural astuteness. Not even the most intimate of his coworkers guessed them.
For nearly a month now Druce had been calling at Boland’s offices intent on obtaining a renewal of his lease to the Cafe Sinister. During that entire month he had never been able to obtain even a word with the master financier. Boland had purposely refused to grant the interview so frequently requested by Druce not because he had any repugnance against doing business with the dive keeper but because to his mind there had never appeared any good reason why he should grant that interview. He played the waiting game with Druce because he had found by profitable experience that the waiting game paid John Boland best. The time might come when he would be able to use so excellent a tool as Druce to its best advantage. Boland was waiting calmly for that time. If Druce suffered in the interim John Boland was unable to see how that was any of his concern. In fact, Boland figured, the more Druce suffered, the keener a tool he would be for his purposes.
Druce guessed something of this. He too possessed a mind adapted to intrigue. Therefore every rebuff from Boland found him undaunted. He knew that his time must come. He called at Boland’s offices again and again, smiling always in the face of denial.
Of late a new incentive for calling at the Electric Trust’s offices had developed for Druce. This was furnished by Miss Masters. The girl’s charming looks had aroused the man’s curiosity and cunning. Her air of worldly wisdom, her alternate repulses and advances, had stirred him as he had rarely been stirred before. In his eagerness to possess her he almost lost sight of the main object of his visits.
But whether by accident or design Druce was never able to get a word with the girl alone. She was always, save on the sole occasion of his last visit, either engaged with Harry Boland’s dictation, or, if in the outer office, chaperoned by Harry Boland’s red-headed office boy. One day Druce met Red in the lower corridor of the Electric Trust building. The boy grinned knowingly at him and yelled as he hurried by.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” answered Druce, but at the moment it came to him that Red’s chaperonage of Miss Masters might not be entirely accidental.
Druce stepped into the elevator and was let out at the Electric Trust’s offices. He entered and found the offices empty.
“Hang the little fool,” he said, “she doesn’t know which side her bread is—”
“Meaning whom?” inquired Miss Masters’ saccharine voice.