“No-o-o-o!” and he thought he detected a stifled snicker.  “I left him with Aunt Pattie and slipped out for a minute.”

Him!  Him, eh?  And she had slipped out to telephone her friend, Johnny, the bit of hot information!

He covered the transmitter with his hand to turn aside and smile.  This was a pleasant world after all!

“Many, many thanks!” he jubilated.  “I think I’ll arrange a little dinner of jollification to-night and hand you the official score.  I’ll have the colonel, and Mr. Courtney, and Polly, and—­”

“You may call me up and tell me about it as soon as you get that property off your hands,” she interrupted him.

“All right,” he reluctantly agreed.  “You’ll come to the dinner, won’t you?”

“Well, I have a partial engagement,” she hesitated.

“Then you’ll come,” he exultantly knew.

“Maybe,” she replied.  “Hurry!”

He declared that he would—­but he was talking into a dead telephone.

“I guess I’ll hurry,” he decided, and stalked into Mallard’s room.  “Look here, fellows.  Can’t we cut this thing short?” he suggested.  “There’s no use in Mr. Courtney’s completing his purchase from Mallard & Tyne, or me mine from Mr. Courtney, or Mr. Washer his from me.  All that poppy-cock is just to conceal out profits.  What Mr. Washer wants is the ground; and Courtney and I want half a million dollars, besides the eighth of a million that Mr. Courtney had already invested.  Mr. Washer, give Courtney your check for five-eighths of a million—­and both Courtney and I will tear up our contracts and give you the pieces.  Then you settle with Mallard & Tyne for two and an eighth millions.”

“Look here, Courtney, is this a put-up job between you and Gamble?” demanded Washer.

“No,” returned Courtney, with that rarely seen smile of his, “it’s only the finish of that job you put up on me when you persuaded my friends to drop out of my hotel company.”

Washer looked petulant.  Johnny Gamble patted him on the shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he said—­“but hurry.  If you don’t hurry I’ll sell you some stock in my Terminal Hotel Company.”

“Give me some papers to sign,” ordered Washer, producing his check-book.

Gresham met the colonel and Courtney on Broadway in full regalia just as they were turning in at the newest big cafe to dine that night.

“I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Courtney, that my warning of this noon was not unfounded,” he remarked.  “Perhaps, however, you already know it.”

“No, I don’t,” returned Courtney, eying the correctly dressed Gresham with some dissatisfaction.  “I’m not even sure of what you mean.”

“About a certain man with whom you are doing business.”

“Oh—­Gamble?”

“What’s the matter with Gamble?” bristled the colonel.

“Why, Gresham hinted to me this morning that Gamble had financial obligations he could not meet,” explained Courtney.  “It seems that he met them, however.”