Spencer thrust his hands deep into his pockets and faced von Fincke resolutely. "She idolizes her father; his word is law to her." "And you have his consent to the match?" "Not yet, but I mean to get it; if necessary, by moral suasion." "Gently, my dear Spencer, gently." Von Fincke held up a warning hand. "Whitney must not be annoyed." "Indeed?" Spencer eyed his companion suspiciously. "And why not?" "His invention...." Spencer's laugh was not pleasant. "How do you know it isn't completed and patent applied for?" "Is that so?" Von Fincke walked over to his desk and seated himself. "Suppose we sit and talk...." "No," defiantly. "The time for talking has gone by. You know, I'll bet my last cent that Whitney has patents pending in the United States Patent Office for his invention. All this waiting for him to finish his work is poppy-cock. Why are you protecting Whitney, unless he's your tool?" Von Fincke laughed. "You have strange ideas. Do sit and let us change the topic of conversation." "I won't." Spencer strode to the door. "I've done with your dirty work...." "Tut! tut!" Von Fincke, who had been leaning back in his revolving chair, straightened up. "Your language, my dear friend, can be improved ..." "And so can my knowledge," significantly. "I'm going to investigate Whitney's affairs and his house before I'm much older. Don't bother to ring for a servant," he added, seeing his host's hand hovering over the electric desk bell, and not waiting for an answer, bolted from the room. Von Fincke's hand descended on the electric bell button with imperative force, and rising he hastened into the hall. He paused at sight of his breathless valet ushering Spencer down the staircase. Not until he was thoroughly convinced that Spencer had left the house did he turn back from the head of the stairs. "He grows troublesome, that Spencer," he mused as he made his way to his own suite of rooms. An hour later Captain Charles Miller turned in at the main entrance of his hotel and went directly to his room on the eighth floor. Humming softly to himself he hung up his overcoat and hat in the closet, and removing his coat placed that also on a hanger. Back once more in his bedroom, he carefully arranged the heavy draperies over his window so that his movements were completely screened, and taking a black silk muffler fastened it securely over the knob of the hall door. The window and door of his private bathroom were likewise draped. Finally satisfied that he was secure from observation and all sound deadened, Miller took from his overcoat pocket four porcelain castors, and dropping on his knees by the side of his brass bed, he deftly inserted them in place of the bed's regular steel castors.