“Well, you'll have to look somewhere else for him,” I said firmly. “I never saw the note, and never bought a share of Crown Diamond.” Doddridge Knapp bent forward, and looked for an instant as though he would leap upon me. His eye was the eye of a wild beast in anger. If I had written that note I should have gone through the window without stopping for explanations. As I had not written it I sat there coolly and looked him in the face with an easy conscience. “Well, well,” he said at last, relaxing his gaze, “I almost believe you.” “There's no use going any further, Mr. Knapp, unless you believe me altogether.” “I see you understand what I was going to say,” he said quietly. “But if you didn't send that, who did?” “Well, if I were to make a guess, I should say it was the man who wrote this.” I tossed him in turn the note I had received in the afternoon, bidding me sell everything. The King of the Street looked at it carefully, and his brows drew lower and lower as its import dawned on him. The look of angry perplexity deepened on his face. “Where did you get this?” I detailed the circumstances. The anger that flashed in his eyes was more eloquent than the outbreak of curses I expected to hear. “Um!” he said at last with a grim smile. “It's lucky, after all, that you had something besides cotton in that skull of yours, Wilton.” “A fool might have been caught by it,” I said modestly. “There looks to be trouble ahead,” he said, “There's a rascally gang in the market these days.” And the King of the Street sighed over the dishonesty that had corrupted the stock gamblers' trade. I smiled inwardly, but signified my agreement with my employer. “Well, who wrote them?” he asked almost fiercely. “They seem to come from the same hand.” “Maybe you'd better ask that fellow who had his eye at your keyhole when I left the office this noon.” “Who was that?” The Wolf gave a startled look. “Why didn't you tell me?” “He was a well-made, quick, lithe fellow, with an eye that reminded me of a snake. I gave chase to him, but couldn't overhaul him. He squirmed away in the crowd, I guess.” The last part of my tale was unheard. At the description of the snake-eyed man, Doddridge Knapp sank back in his chair, the flash of anger died out of his eyes, and his mind was far away. Was it terror, or anxiety, or wonder, that swept in shadow across his face? The mask that never gave up a thought or purpose before the changing fortunes of the market was not likely to fail its owner here. I could make nothing out of the page before me, except that the vision of Terrill had startled him. “Why didn't you tell me?” he said at last, in a steady voice. “I didn't suppose it was worth coming back for, after I got into the street. And, besides, you were busy.” “Yes, yes, you were right: you are not to come--of course, of course.” The King of the Street looked at me curiously, and then said smoothly: