Then we had not been close acquaintances. “Oh, by the way, you have that other cipher yet, haven't you?” he asked. “No, I burnt it,” I said unblushingly. “That's right,” he said. “It was best not to take risks. Of course you understand that it won't do for us to be seen together.” “Certainly not,” I assented. “I have arranged for another office. Here's the address. Yours is Room 15. I have the key to 17, and 16 is vacant between with a 'To Let' sign on it. They open into each other. You understand?” “Perfectly,” I said. “You will be there by nine o'clock for your orders. If you get none by twelve, there will be none for the day.” “If I can't be there, I'll let you know.” I was off my guard for a moment, thinking of the possible demands of Henry's unknown employer. “You will do nothing of the kind,” said Doddridge Knapp shortly. His voice, so smooth and businesslike a moment before, changed suddenly to a growl. His heavy eyebrows came down, and from under them flashed a dangerous light. “You will be there when I tell you, young man, or you'll have to reckon with another sort of customer than the one you've been dealing with. This matter requires prompt and strict obedience to orders. One slip may ruin the whole plan.” “You can depend on me,” I said with assumed confidence. “Am I to have any discretion?” “None whatever.” I had thus far been able to get no hint of his purposes. If I had not known what I knew, I should have supposed that his mind was concentrated on the apparent object before him--to secure the zeal and fidelity of an employee in some important business operation. “And what am I to do?” I asked. “Be a capitalist,” he said with an ironical smile. “Buy and sell what I tell you to buy and sell. Keep under cover, but not too much under cover. You can pick your own brokers. Better begin with Bockstein and Eppner, though. Your checks will be honored at the Nevada Bank. Oh, here's a cipher, in case I want to write you. I suppose you'll want some ready money.” Doddridge Knapp was certainly a liberal provider, for he shoved a handful of twenty-dollar gold pieces across the desk in a way that made my eyes open. “By the way,” he continued, “I don't think I have your signature, have I?” “No, sir,” I replied with prompt confidence. “Well, just write it on this slip then. I'll turn it into the bank for your identification. You can take this check-book with you.” “Anything more?” “That's all,” he replied with a nod of dismissal. “Maybe it's to-morrow--maybe it's next month.” And I walked out into Montgomery Street, bewildered among the conflicting mysteries in which I had been entangled. CHAPTER VI A NIGHT AT BORTON'S