So he sat down and wrote a note to Messrs. Smith and Hanson, and said that he would like to have a consultation with a member of their firm.  He sent this note by messenger, and an hour or so later a wiry little person, with a much-wrinkled face and a shrewd look in his eyes, came into his office and introduced himself as Mr. Hanson.

“I have been talking with my client about the matter of the Northern Mississippi stock,” said Montague.  “You know, perhaps, that this road was organised under somewhat unusual circumstances; most of the stockholders were personal friends of our family.  For this reason my client would prefer not to deal with an agent, if it can possibly be arranged.  I wish to find out whether your client would consent to deal directly with the owner of the stock.”

Montague finished what he had to say, although while he was speaking he noticed that Mr. Hanson was staring at him with very evident astonishment.  Before he finished, this had changed to a slight sneer.

“What kind of a trick is this you are trying to play on me?” the man demanded.

Montague was too much taken aback to be angry.  He simply stared.  “I don’t understand you,” he said.

“You don’t, eh?” said the other, laughing in his face.  “Well, it seems I know more than you think I do.”

“What do you mean?” asked Montague.

“Your client no longer has the stock that you are talking about,” said the other.

Montague caught his breath.  “No longer has the stock!” he gasped.

“Of course not,” said Hanson.  “She sold it three days ago.”  Then, unable to deny himself the satisfaction, he added, “She sold it to Stanley Ryder.  And if you want to know any more about it, she sold it for a hundred and sixty thousand dollars, and he gave her a six months’ note for a hundred and forty thousand.”

Montague was utterly dumfounded.  He could do nothing but stare.

It was evident to the other man that his emotion was genuine, and he smiled sarcastically.  “Evidently, Mr. Montague,” he said, “you have been permitting your client to take advantage of you.”

Montague caught himself together, and bowed politely.  “I owe you an apology, Mr. Hanson,” he said, in a low voice.  “I can only assure you that I was entirely helpless in the matter.”

Then he rose and bade the man good morning.

When the door of his office was closed, he caught at the chair by his desk to steady himself, and stood staring in front of him.  “To Stanley Ryder!” he gasped.

He turned to the ’phone, and called up his friend.

“Lucy,” he said, “is it true that you have sold that stock?”

He heard her give a gasp.  “Answer me!” he cried.

“Allan,” she began, “you are going to be angry with me—­”

“Please answer me!” he cried again.  “Have you sold that stock?”

“Yes, Allan,” she said, “I didn’t mean—­”