“Oh, that isn’t all I know about you,” Follansbee assured him maliciously. “I can tell you all about the Condor Mine and of your partner, Winthrop Crawford—or shall we call him your ex-partner? I know that you and he recently sold the Condor for a million, and that you have both come back to your old stamping ground after an absence of a quarter of a century or so. I know several other things, too, but we won’t speak of them just yet.” Stone bit his lip and paled a little under his tan. “Well, I’ll be hanged!” he muttered. “I suppose Floyd must have written to you about me. How in thunder you knew me, though, when I came in, is more than I can understand.” “Who may ‘Floyd’ be?” queried Follansbee, as if he had never heard the name before. His visitor looked at him in bewilderment, but again failed to read that baffling countenance. “Why, he’s the young American doctor down in Brazil who advised me to come to you,” he explained wonderingly. “He said he had studied under you in medical school.” “Indeed! That’s very interesting,” murmured the specialist. “Hundreds of young men have studied under me, however. I suppose I might say thousands. It is gratifying to be remembered by one of them, of course, but I cannot be expected——” “Then how in the world——” “Let’s not waste time over things out of our immediate concern,” Follansbee interrupted. “Please remember that my time is valuable, very valuable. You seem to be slow in getting to the point. I’ll help you out. I happen to know the nature of your errand, but am also perfectly well aware that your heart isn’t in it. Your real desires are of a very different sort. Isn’t that so?” James Stone looked alarmed, as well he might. His conscience was by no means clear, and the conversation seemed to be getting on decidedly dangerous ground. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he faltered, moistening his lips. “Doctor Floyd had a fool notion that I was going crazy, or something like that. I naturally didn’t take very kindly to the idea, but I was more or less under obligations to him, and he was so insistent that I promised to look you up. He said you would help me. Of course, I don’t think I need any help—of that sort—but I’m a man of my word, and that’s why I’m here.” “Very commendable!” murmured the head of St. Swithin’s. “Doctor Boyd, or whatever his name is, was quite right. I can help you, in more ways than one, and I perceive that what you really want is to be rid of your former partner, Winthrop Crawford. Have I hit the nail on the head?” A meaning smile crossed the sinister face, and Follansbee leaned back in his chair, the glance from his hard little eyes playing over his caller’s face. CHAPTER VIII. “NAME YOUR PRICE.”