Of course she did; and, when I asked, she granted that she’d seen considerable mention of me, recently. “That’s good,” I said. “Will you ask Mr. Sencort if he has, too? And, if he has, assure him I’ve called on nothing connected with my usual business, but something else of direct importance to him.” “Rising out of your--” she hesitated and then said--“your counterfeiter’s connection, Mr. Fanneal?” “Rising from it,” I told her, “but not stopping there. Now I leave it to you to get me in to see Mr. Sencort.” I saw, by this time, she was curious, if not a little impressed. It’s queer how a short and conspicuously unsuccessful connection with crime produces an effect which a lifetime in a creditable business can not do,--at least not the bean business. That girl disappeared and when she was back again, it was to ask me into Mr. Sencort’s office. The old man was at his desk and alone, and I saw at once that the girl had gone the distance for me with him; I had much to make good, so I went to it immediately. “I’ve come to ask you not to have any meetings in your directors’ room to-day.” Of course he asked why; and I told him, “I’ve word, which I feel sure is reliable, that there is a plot against your meeting.” “Hmm!” said Sencort, evidently disappointed. “Much obliged for your trouble.” Plainly, he wasn’t interested. I said, “You’ll not meet in that room this morning?” He was looking at papers on his desk. “Why not? I’ve had it examined. I’ve been warned before, Fanneal; so we’ve already taken precautions. These threats never amount to anything. Much obliged to you, however.” “You’ve examined the pipes in that room?” I asked. “Pipes?” he repeated. There’s always something about definiteness which claims the attention. He pressed a button on his desk. The girl, who had got me in, reappeared. “Ask Reed and Weston whether they’ve particularly examined the pipes in the directors’ room,” he said; and when the girl was gone, he nodded to me. “Sit down, Fanneal.” Some one rang him on the ’phone, just then; and when he was through talking, the girl gave word: “Not particularly, Mr. Sencort. They’re going over them now.” Again she left us alone. “Rather rotten situation in Europe,” I commented conversationally. “Hmm,” Sencort grunted, chewing his cigar, with as little interest in my reactions on the European trouble as in my warning to him. He gave me the impression that, having read about my performance with those counterfeit plates, he was willing to refresh his memory upon the sort of citizen who did that sort of thing. His girl reentered and reported, “Mr. Teverson is here with Lord Strathon and M. Géroud, sir.” Sencort nodded. “Heard from Reed?” “He’s outside, sir.” “Send him in.” Reed proved to be a tall, keen-looking chap, evidently alert and undoubtedly dependable. He was one of the bank detectives, not in uniform.