“Several years ago, when I was in New York, I remember meeting some woman with Mr. Krutzmacht at a hotel—a very handsome woman, from one of your Southern States, I judged by her accent. But,” he added hastily, “I have no reason to believe that she was his wife. It is probable that one might find out in San Francisco, where he lived the latter part of his life. I could not say.” “So far as you know, there is no one interested in this deal?” Brainard persisted. “The heirs will announce themselves soon enough, if there are any. Until then,” Herr Schneider remarked slyly, “we need not go into the question.” The young American stared at the banker with honest, uncomprehending eyes. “But that’s just what it is my business to do!” he exclaimed. “There was some one, I am sure, whom the old man tried to tell me about.” “Oh!” “He was too far gone to say the whole name, but I think he had in mind some one whom he wanted to have his money. You see how it is, Herr Schneider. I am acting as this old fellow’s representative—his executor, so to speak—to take care of his property and hand it over to some one named Melody, or—” “Melody?” inquired the banker, puzzled. “Yes—that was what I made it out to be,” Brainard said, blushing. “But that was the name of the Arizona mine.” “It might perhaps be the name of—of a person, too.” The banker shrugged his shoulders. He turned to the inventory. Putting on his glasses, he re-read the paper carefully. When he had finished, he glanced up, saying: “Well, Mr. Brainard, now for business, as your people say. What do you want me to give you in exchange for these securities and papers?” “What they are worth.” “Ah, that would be very hard to say!” “What would they be worth to Mr. Krutzmacht, if he were here?” “If Mr. Krutzmacht were alive, they might be worth a great deal,” the banker said cautiously, “and yet they might have no value, now that he is dead.” “He seemed to think they had some value,” Brainard said flatly. The banker fidgeted. “Oh, of course, naturally!” “And they can’t have lost all their value within a few weeks.” “One company is bankrupt already. This suit, the irregular manner in which possession of these papers was obtained—” began the banker, fencing. “What will you give, cash down?” demanded Brainard. The banker rose from his chair and walked to the window. He pulled out a fresh cigar, lighted it, laid it down, and turned to Brainard. “It is a great risk. We do not know what we can do with the properties. We shall doubtless have lawsuits. We may lose all. Let us say fifty thousand dollars for everything—everything!” he repeated. The banker looked keenly at Brainard, as if he thought he had been impressive. “There are over eight millions of Pacific Northern bonds, and about fifteen millions in stock—besides all the rest,” Brainard observed reflectively. “It won’t do, Mr. Schneider—guess again!” “Stocks and bonds are worth what you can get for them.”