“Of course,” Brainard drawled, “we don’t sell Krutzmacht’s private things—the mine, I mean—the Melody mine.” The banker waved his hand indifferently. “And for the rest you can give us”—the banker held his cigar poised in the air—“two millions.” The banker leaped to his feet. “You swindler!” he shouted angrily. “You have the impudence—” “Careful! That’s not a pretty name, Herr Schneider,” Brainard replied coldly. “Perhaps I am not the only crook in this business. Don’t get excited. You don’t have to take my offer.” The banker slowly subsided into his chair. “We shall appeal to the courts!” he snarled. “What courts? I thought you might try to bluff, and so I suggested having our talk in some neutral place.” “You are pretty shrewd, my young man. You take all these precautions for the sake of Mr. Krutzmacht’s heirs, I suppose,” he sneered unpleasantly. “Careful now! I don’t mind one bit going to a Dutch jail for slugging you; but what good would that do either of us? The stuff isn’t here, you know.” With this Brainard rose to his feet and took his coat and bag. “Where are you going?” the banker asked in some alarm. “Oh, I’ll take a look about the place, I guess, and then go back to Paris. I don’t believe you and I can do business to advantage in your present mood.” “Your plunder won’t do _you_ any good,” the banker observed. “You can’t raise a penny on it.” “We’ll see about that. There are others who might be willing to pay me something for the paper. I have a pretty good idea that their agents are hunting for my address at the present moment. Suppose I let them find me?” “Call it a million marks!” the banker snapped. “I said two million dollars, and I’ll keep the bonds, too. You said they were no good, as I understand. They might as well stay with me, in that case. They look pretty!” The banker gave him an evil look. Brainard, unconcerned, rang for a waiter, and when the man appeared he ordered his bill and a cab. “When can you deliver the papers—those that you have with you in Europe?” the banker asked briskly, when the servant had departed. “Whenever you are ready with the cash—two million dollars, not marks—Herr Schneider!” “One doesn’t carry two million dollars in one’s trousers pockets, over here,” the banker sneered. “I will give you one week to deliver the cash in Paris,” Brainard replied carelessly. “Just seven days.” “Your cab is waiting, sir,” the waiter announced. “All right! You will have to excuse me, Herr Schneider. I want to take a look about the town.” And thus they parted without shaking hands. “Tell the driver,” Brainard said to the waiter, “to show me everything worth seeing in your town.” As he settled himself into the cab for his sightseeing, he mused: