“Don't,” she said. “That's conventional. If you are to be conventional you're not to come.” And she laughed nervously. I looked into her eyes, and then on impulse stooped and kissed the hand I still held. “It was what I meant,” I said. She snatched her hand away, and as she did so I saw in the dim light that hid the further end of the hall, the figure of the Wolf, massive, dark, threatening, and my mind supplied it with all the fires of passion and hate with which I had twice seen the face inflamed. Luella's eyes grew large with wonder and alarm as she caught on my face the reflection of the Wolf's coming. But as she turned to look, the figure faded away without sound, and there was only Mrs. Knapp appearing in the doorway; and her alarm turned to amusement. “Oh, I was afraid you had gone,” said Mrs. Knapp. “Would you mind, Luella, looking after the guests a minute?” Luella bowed me a good night and was gone. “Oh, Henry,” said Mrs. Knapp, “I wanted to ask you about Mr. Knapp. Is your aid absolutely essential to his success?” “I presume not, thought it would probably embarrass him somewhat if I should take ship for China before morning.” As I held in the bank securities worth nearly three millions of dollars, I believed that I spoke within bounds. “I suppose it would do no good to try to dissuade him from his plans?” “It would take a bolder man than I,” said I with a smile at the audacity of the idea. Mrs. Knapp smiled sadly in response. “Do you think, Henry,” she asked hesitatingly, “do you think that Mr. Knapp is quite himself?” My mind leaped at the recollection of the Wolf figure in the opium-dens. But I choked down the thought, and replied calmly: “He certainly has a vigorous business head on his shoulders.” “I wish you could tell me about his business affairs,” said Mrs. Knapp wistfully. “But I know you won't.” “You wouldn't think much of me if I did,” I said boldly. “It would be right to tell _me_,” she said. “But I mustn't keep you standing here. Good night.” I walked down the steps, and joined my waiting guards with a budget of new thoughts and feelings to examine. The three days that followed were days of storm and stress in the market; a time of steady battle in the Stock Exchange, of feints and sallies on stocks which we did not want, of “wash sales” and bogus bargains, of rumors on rumors and stratagems on stratagems--altogether a harvest season for the Father of Lies.