It was surprising how quickly his address passed round and even more surprising how very quickly Moropulos had organized an intelligence service which was unique as it was pernicious. He paid well, or rather Steppe paid, and the returns were handsome. A clerk desiring to participate in a rise of value which he knew was coming, could buy a hundred shares through Moropulos and that, without the expenditure of a cent. Moropulos knew the secrets of a hundred offices; there were few business amalgamations that he did not hear about weeks in advance. When the Westfontein Gold Mines published a sensational report concerning their properties, a report which brought their stock from eight to nothing, few people knew that Moropulos had had the essential part of the report in his pocket the day after it arrived in London. It cost Steppe three thousand pounds, but was worth every penny. The amount of the sum paid was exaggerated, but it was also spread abroad. And in consequence, Mr. Moropulos was a very busy man. He was in his sitting-room on that shivering winter night. A great fire roared in the chimney, a shaded lamp was so placed, that it fell upon the book and the occupant of the sofa could read in comfort. On a small eastern table was a large tumblerful of barley water. From time to time Mr. Moropulos sipped wryly. It was nearing ten and he was debating within himself whether he should go to bed or test his will by a visit to a café where he knew some friends of his would be, when he heard the street door slam and looked over his shoulder. It could only be Sault or-- The door opened and Jan Steppe came in, dusting the snow from the sleeve of his coat. It was a handsome coat, deeply collared in astrachan and its lining was sealskin, as Mr. Moropulos did not fail to observe. "Alone, huh?" said Steppe. He glanced at the barley water by the Greek's side and grinned sardonically. "That's the stuff, not a headache in a bucketful!" "Nor a cheerful thought," said Moropulos. "What brings you this way, Steppe?" "I want to put some things in the safe." Sault's invention stood on a wooden frame behind a screen. "Have to be careful about this word--give me some more light," said Steppe at the dial. Moropulos rose wearily and turned a switch. "That's better--huh. Got it!" The door swung open and, taking a small package from his pocket, the big man tossed it in. "Got something here, huh?" He pulled out an envelope. There was a wax seal on the back. "'The photograph'?" he read and frowned at the other. "It is mine," said Moropulos. "Nothing to do with the business?" "Nothing." Steppe threw it back and turned the dial. "Nothing new, huh?" He glanced at the barley water again. "Where's Sault?" "He goes home early. I don't see him again unless one of your hounds sends for him." Steppe's smile was half sneer. "You don't like Sault--a good fellow, huh?"