"Who was here yesterday or the day before?" "Nobody, sir, but a Mr. Slosson, I think the name was--yesterday morning early." "Slosson!" The name broke from Armstrong. He clenched his lips for an instant, and flung an appearance of calm into his reply. "Very well. You may serve luncheon whenever it's ready." "It's ready now, sir." The maid's face was frightened. "If--if Mrs. Armstrong is coming back--" "Coming back?" Armstrong looked at the maid with terrible eyes. "What do you mean?" "She called the car and went out, just after you went upstairs, sir. And--and she had her traveling-bag--" Armstrong put out a hand to the stair-rail. For a moment he stood speechless, his face gray as death. The maid started forward to stay him from falling, then she shrank back from his burning gaze. "Never mind luncheon," he said thickly. BOOK III "A MAN'S HEART DEVISETH HIS WAY" CHAPTER I Upon the Saturday after the triumphal return from Wilmington, Lawrence Macgowan sat in the office that had once belonged to Armstrong. A thin, malicious smile drew at his lips as he studied a typed document which lay on the desk before him. He leaned back and lighted a cigar, laughing silently and amusedly to himself. The door opened, to admit Findlater. "Good morning, Mr. President!" exclaimed Macgowan heartily. "I was just thinking about you! Come in and make yourself at home." Findlater, looking well pleased with the world, lowered himself into a chair. Success had agreed with him. It had even given him a slightly superior air with Macgowan. "Er--something I'd like to inquire about, Mac. How do you expect to meet these suits that have been brought by Armstrong's crowd?" Macgowan waved his cigar genially. "Tut, tut, my boy! Never worry over little things like that." "But it may become serious." Findlater frowned, as though displeased by this light response. "Everything's being done in my name, and I should have a clear idea of the program ahead of us." "Oh, leave the legal affairs to me," and Macgowan's shoulders shook in a hearty laugh. "Haven't I taken care of them pretty well so far?" Findlater reddened. He was ruffled, irritated by this evasion. "Confound it, Mac, why can't you be talked to? Why, look at Armstrong! He'd let a man sit down and talk an hour. With all his cursed blue-law character, he'd listen to any proposition--he's big enough to do it. But not you. Why are you stalling about these suits?" Macgowan's eyes narrowed, then a smile crept into them; not a nice smile. This unfavorable comparison with his enemy, particularly coming from Findlater, stung him unbearably. "All right, have your way--and pay for it," he said, a rasp in his voice. "You want to know how I'm going to deal with that crowd, eh?" "Exactly. But what do you mean by paying for it?" Macgowan waved this query aside, ignored it temporarily.