Affairs were in this gloomy condition, when Brent and Wharton sat in the latter’s office after the close of business on the 1st of November. The events of the past month had been a severe strain upon both men. Wharton was both pale and haggard. His nervous force had been almost drained. He was tipped back in his office chair, with both feet perched upon the slide at the side of his desk, and with his head resting wearily upon his hand. Brent, with gloomy, rather indifferent countenance, was stretched out in an equally negligent attitude in a large leather-covered lounging chair. Neither had spoken for some time when Brent turned to his friend and remarked, in a tone that expressed both disgust and indifference: “Well, Jack, what next? For my part, I’m utterly sick of it all. Let’s take to-morrow’s steamer for the Mediterranean. You need it badly enough, and what good can we do here? I believe things get worse instead of better the more we meddle with them.” Wharton pondered some time before replying. Finally he took his feet down from their resting-place, shook himself together, and with strong emphasis thus delivered himself: “Yes, Bob, it’s time we stopped meddling, and I agree there’s not much more that we alone can do in the present situation. The crisis is too great for one man or two men. We must have help. I know how you dread notoriety, but if ever a problem demanded the best wisdom of the country and the world for its solution, it is this one. Our poor efforts have not been altogether mischievous. Worse things might have happened than have happened; but we haven’t begun to get at the heart of the problem yet. Even if we weather the present crisis without worse disaster, there is your remaining incubus of gold to deal with. That is what makes the situation hopeless in my eyes. Humanity has never faced a more terrible enemy, in my opinion, than you hold locked up in your vault. It isn’t safe there, or rather society isn’t safe as long as it remains there. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since you told me about it. No locks and keys ever made are strong enough to hold such a quantity of gold in safety. That isn’t the worst of it. The knowledge of its existence is just as dangerous as the thing itself. It is a marvel to me that the secret has not leaked out before now. Mark my words, it will leak out. What we have done in the last year is enough to justify the wildest suspicions. I am not so sure that they do not already exist. The _Sun_, as you know, printed some broad hints six months ago. A widespread suspicion of the truth would work almost as much mischief as actual knowledge, and it would inevitably lead to discovery. Why, in such an emergency, a strong government on some pretext or other would arbitrarily assume the authority to investigate and uncover the facts at any cost. It would be quite right, too, in defying legal rights and all other obstacles to the accomplishment of its purpose. Private property