“They did not desire, so Farbush has told me, to have Austin, here, know of his grandfather’s death until they could so manipulate the matter of the securities, and some other things connected with the business, that even if his life were spared in the end, he would never suspect any tampering with the accounts. Toward the last, the correspondence having been interrupted, they had about given up hope of my arrival, and so they planned delays, until I should get upon the ground. These plans were under way when I arrived; and so, I suppose, they did not think it worth while to alter them.” “When they had your three namesakes assaulted that night in Selden’s Square,” said Austin, “I think the conspirators took a great risk of betraying themselves to the police. I can’t see why the thing was necessary.” “You forget that the man from Butte knew their game. He got his information from a second letter, written in reply to one from him before they heard from Balmacenso. After Balmacenso’s letter was received, they felt sure that _he_ was the man they were looking for, and they realized that the Butte man was dangerous and must be removed. It is more than likely that the other two had never written, but just came on at the time appointed. We know this to be the case with Saginaw. His letter only reached him thirty-six hours ahead. So three men came to Selden’s Square instead of one; and as the plotters did not know which of them was the man from Butte, they did for all three, to make sure.” “What do you suppose was to be your part in their game,” asked Webster. “That of a traitor, almost entirely. I was thought to be stuffed to the neck with information that would throw the matter directly into their hands, when I was ready to act; all the secrets of old Stephen Austin were believed to be at my finger ends, you see. Of course, they knew that Forrester possessed the old man’s confidence; but they knew that it was only in a limited degree, and that it would be worth little unless coupled with what I was supposed to know.” When Kenyon left the Waldorf-Astoria he walked up Fifth Avenue some little distance, and then crossed to Madison. In a quiet, old-fashioned room, where there were potted plants at the windows, he waited for Dallas Gilbert. When she appeared she was dressed in white and with a single red rose at her breast. She held out her hand to him, silently; but her face was flushed and her eyes were shining. Never had he seen her more beautiful, and his admiration must have been plain to her, for she dropped her eyes quickly. “Anna has gone?” she asked, after they had seated themselves. “I saw her and Forrester off in the noon train,” answered Kenyon. “She cried a little when I told her how you had pleaded for Forrester with Austin, and she sends her thanks. She also begs you not to think harshly of her, nor of him. She said that neither of them had ever meditated any wrong against you.”