"That you, Curtiss? Well, we think we've got in touch with the bug under the chip. Can you arrange to meet us in Room 85 at the Hotel Brookmore at nine to-night?... No, I can't tell you a thing about it. We're asked to be there--you're asked to be there--and that's as far as my information goes. Don't be late." When I entered Room 85 four men were seated at a long table. They were Elsberry J. Watlington, Colonel Jim Peck, Samuel Alexander Peebles and W. Cotton Hamilton. They greeted me with a certain amount of nervous irritability. The Big Four had been through a cruel week and showed the marks of strain. "Where's Atkinson?" I asked. "It was stipulated, expressly stipulated," said old Peebles, "that only the five of us should be present. The whole thing is most mysterious. I--I don't like the looks of it." "Probably a hold-up!" grunted Colonel Peck. Watlington didn't say anything. He had aged ten years, his heavy smooth-shaven face was set in stern lines and his mouth looked as if it might have been made with a single slash of a razor. Hamilton mumbled to himself and kept trying to light the end of his thumb instead of his cigar. Peck had his watch in his hand. Peebles played a tattoo on his chin with his fingers. "Good thing we didn't make that application at the Council meeting," said Hamilton. "I never saw such a gang of thugs!" "Male and female!" added Colonel Peck. "Well, time's up! Whoever he is, I hope he won't keep us waiting!" "Ah!" said a cheerful voice. "You don't like to be held up on the tee, do you, Colonel?" There in the doorway stood Wally Wallace, beaming upon the Big Four. Not even on the stage have I ever seen anything to match the expressions on the faces round that table. Old Peebles' mouth kept opening and shutting, like the mouth of a fresh caught carp. The others were frozen, petrified. Wally glanced at me as he advanced into the room, and there was a faint trembling of his left eyelid. "Well," said Wally briskly, "shall we proceed with the business of the meeting?" "Business!" Colonel Peck exploded like a firecracker. "With--you?" It was all Watlington could do to tear the two words out of his throat. He croaked like a big bullfrog. "With me," said Wally, bowing and taking his place at the head of the table. "Unless," he added, "you would prefer to discuss the situation with the rank and file of the Third Avenue Country Club." The silence which followed that remark was impressive. I could hear somebody's heart beating. It may have been my own. As usual Colonel Peck was first to recover the power of speech, and again as usual he made poor use of it. "You--you young whelp!" he gurgled. "So it was----" "Shut up, Jim!" growled Watlington, whose eyes had never left Wally's face. Hamilton carefully placed his cigar in the ashtray and tried to put a match into his mouth. Then he turned on me, sputtering. "Are you in on this?" he demanded.