Hitherto Miller had been the central figure.  Col.  Robert A. Ammon now became the deus ex machina.  Miller’s advertising had become so extensive that he had been forced to retain a professional agent, one Rudolph Guenther, to supervise it, and when the newspapers began to make unpleasant comments, Guenther took Miller to Ammon’s office in the Bennett Building in Nassau Street.  Ammon accepted a hundred dollars from Miller, listened to his account of the business and examined copies of the circulars.  When he was handed one of the printed receipts he said they were “incriminating.”  Miller must try to get them back.  He advised (as many another learned counsellor has done) incorporating the business, since by this means stock could be sold and exchanged for the incriminating receipts.  He explained the mistakes of the “Dean crowd,” but showed how he had been able to safeguard them in spite of the fact that they had foolishly insisted on holding the stock in their company themselves instead of making their customers the stockholders.  Nevertheless “you do not see any of the Dean people in jail,” boasted Ammon.  From now on Miller and he were in frequent consultation, and Ammon took steps to incorporate, procuring for that purpose from Wells, Fargo & Co. a certificate of deposit for one hundred thousand dollars.  Occasionally he would visit Floyd Street to see how things were going.  Miller became a mere puppet; Ammon twitched the wire.

It was now well on in November, and the press of both Boston and New York was filled with scathing attacks upon the Syndicate.  The reporters became so inquisitive as to be annoying to the peaceful Miller.  “Send the reporters over to me!” directed Ammon.

The Post (of Boston) said the whole thing was a miserable swindle.  Ammon, accompanied by Miller, carrying a satchel which contained fifty thousand dollars in greenbacks, went to Boston, visited the offices of the Post, and pitched into the editor.

“The business is all right; you must give us a fair deal!”

The pair also visited Watts, the chief of police.

“You keep your mouth shut,” said Ammon to Miller.  “I’ll do all the talking.”  He showed Watts the bag of money, and demanded what he had meant by calling the enterprise a “green goods business.”  If the thing wasn’t all right, did Watts suppose that he, Col.  Robert A. Ammon, would be connected with it?  The chief backed down, and explained that he had jokingly referred to the color of one of the receipts—­which happened to be green.

In spite of Ammon’s confidence, however, there was an uneasy feeling in the air, and it was decided to put an advertisement in the Post offering to allow any customer who so desired to withdraw his deposit, without notice, upon the following Saturday.  This announcement did not have precisely the anticipated effect, and Saturday saw a large crowd of victims eager to withdraw their money from the