“You forget that you haven’t told me yet what’s the matter,” said Montague.

“Sure enough,” said Bates.

And suddenly he sat up and stared at him.

“Mr. Montague,” he exclaimed, “don’t go back on us!  You’ve no idea how I’ve been working—­and it will be the biggest scoop of a lifetime.  Promise me that you won’t give us away!”

“I cannot promise you,” said Montague, laughing in spite of himself, “until you tell me what it is.”

“I’m afraid you are not going to like it,” said Bates.  “It was a mean trick to play on you, but I was desperate.  I didn’t dare take the risk myself, and Rodney wasn’t dressed for the occasion.”

“You haven’t introduced your friend,” said Montague.

“Oh, excuse me,” said Bates.  “Mr. Rodney, one of our office-men.”

“And now tell me about it,” said Montague, taking a seat.

“It’s the conference,” said Bates.  “We got a tip about it an hour or so ago.  They meet in the room underneath us.”

“What of it?” asked Montague.

“We want to find out what’s going on,” said Bates.

“But how?”

“Through the window.  We’ve got a rope here.”  And Bates pointed toward the suitcase.

Montague stared at him, dumfounded.  “A rope!” he gasped.  “You are going to let him down from the window?”

“Sure thing,” said Bates; “it’s a rear window, and quite safe.”

“But for Heaven’s sake, man!” gasped the other, “suppose the rope breaks?”

“Oh, it won’t break,” was the reply; “we’ve got the right sort of rope.”

“But how will you ever get him up again?” Montague exclaimed.

“That’s all right,” said Bates; “he can climb up, or else we can let him down to the ground.  We’ve got rope enough.”

“But suppose he loses his grip!  Suppose—­”

“That’s all right,” said Bates, easily.  “You leave that to Rodney.  He’s nimble—­he began life as a steeple-jack.  That’s why I picked him.”

Rodney grinned.  “I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Montague gazed from one to the other, unable to think of another word to say.

“Tell me, Mr. Bates,” he asked finally, “do you often do this in your profession?”

“I’ve done it once before,” was the reply.  “I wanted some photographs in a murder case.  I’ve often tried back windows, and fire-escapes, and such things.  I used to be a police reporter, you know, and I learned bad habits.”

“But,” said Montague, “suppose you were caught?”

“Oh, pshaw!” said he.  “The office would soon fix that up.  The police never bother a newspaper man.”

There was a pause.  “Mr. Montague,” said Bates, earnestly, “I know this is a tough proposition—­but think what it means.  We get word about this conference.  Waterman is here—­and Duval—­think of that!  Dan Waterman and the Oil Trust getting together!  The managing editor sent for me himself, and he said, ‘Bates, get that story.’  And what am I to do?  There’s about as much chance of my finding out what goes on in that conference—­”