“I want to become a member of your gang, or organization, or secret society, or whatever you call it,” Max informed him coolly. “I want to share your excitements, your risks, and your plunder. That’s all I ask. Take me into partnership, and you’ll not only secure my silence about last night, but you’ll also have enlisted a valuable and experienced recruit, though I say it myself.” Alfred Atherton rose to his feet and paced the room for a moment or two. At length he halted and once more planted himself in front of his caller. “You’re a remarkable fellow, Max,” he said, with just a suspicion of irony in his voice. “By your unaided wit you have discovered what all the trained intelligence of the police has failed to discover, or even to suspect. I congratulate you. “You’re quite right,” he went on. “Frost and Kinsley and Tufts and myself are all members of a secret society, which obtains its revenues from the public by means of burglary, arson, forgery, impersonation, and similar unconventional methods. The society was founded by myself some years ago, and I have the honor of being its president. “At first it consisted of less than a dozen members, but at the present time it numbers over a hundred. At first we did not bother about a name for it, but one day, in a fit of jocular inspiration, I christened it ‘The Order of the Philosopher’s Stone,’ and the name has stuck to it ever since.” “A curious name,” suggested Max. “What made you choose a name like that?” “You’re an intelligent fellow, and you seem to be well read,” was the answer. “Doubtless, therefore, you’ll remember that the ‘Philosopher’s Stone’ was the name given by the alchemists of the middle ages to the touchstone for which they were always searching, and which they believed would change the baser metals into gold. Well, all our members are very fond of gold, and everything which can be converted into gold--the Massey jewels, for instance--so what better name could I have found for our organization?” “_The Philosopher’s Stone_ is also the name of your yacht, isn’t it?” “Yes, but the yacht really isn’t mine. Strictly speaking, it belongs to the society, and is chiefly used for the purpose of smuggling our loot out of the country. The officers and crew are all members of the organization, of course, and so are the servants in this apartment.” He paused, and regarded Max Berne with a mocking smile. “And so are the servants in this apartment,” he repeated meaningly. “As I said just now, my dear Max, you’re a remarkably clever fellow in your way, but doesn’t it begin to strike you that you were rather foolish to come here and threaten me?” “No, I can’t say that it does,” was the calm reply. Atherton shrugged his shoulders.