“We’re simply meshed in the net he has woven,” thought Bowen. “And there’s no way out! Great Jehu, if I could only get my hands free for five minutes!” But he could not, and gave up the instinctive effort. His hands and feet were numb and swollen by reason of the tight lashings. The thirst that racked him was unbearable. He kept silent, however. Ask Henderson for a drink? Beg Henderson for mercy? Not yet! Time passed. Through the curtain Bowen could hear Henderson answering the telephone, but not in any manner to supply further information. He knew that the man was smoking, could smell the tobacco: it wakened the craving within him and intensified his thirst. Once Charley called up, and presumably demanded permission to sell, for Henderson answered savagely: “I told you once before that I’d give orders! Now shut up. You sell when I tell you to sell, and not before. Get that? I’m giving the orders in this deal, and not you! You tell me when that stock climbs to ninety—what? Never mind your predictions; I know what’s doing! When it touches ninety, call me, that’s all. But don’t you dare sell until I give you the word!” Again the scratch of a match, followed by silence. Bowen’s eyes were caught by a metallic glint on the threadbare carpet, two feet from his head—just about opposite his elbow. He stared at it for a moment without recognition. Then suddenly his gray eyes widened a little. The object had been spilled with the other things from the wall-cabinet. It was rusty and had evidently been long discarded, forgotten. It was the slender steel blade of a safety-razor! “Great Jehu!” muttered Bowen. “Great Jehu! If I only could!” He was lying half on one side, half on his arms, which were bound behind his back. Carefully he moved his numbed limbs, moved his aching body. Inch by inch he moved it, sidling up and along until he judged that his lashed hands were about level with the bit of rusted steel. Gropingly he felt for it. A moment later his searching fingers came in contact with the razor-blade. Bowen relaxed, a deep breath of achievement swelling his chest. He lay quiet, half fearing lest his movements had been heard by Henderson. But no sign came from the other room. As the possibilities unfolded, a desperate inspiration flashed upon Bowen’s brain. After all, there was still a chance, more than a chance, of retrieving the disaster! That bit of rusted steel placed hope between his hands! How late it was, he could not tell, but it must be long past noon, although Cheadle had not yet returned with the luncheon. Bowen smiled at the thought. If he could but free his feet and wrists! If he could but down those two scoundrels! If he could but telephone to Gus Saunders before two o’clock! Then the market for Apex Crown would be at its height, and Saunders could unload before the crash!