J. Bayard shrugs his shoulders careless and spreads out his hands. "Gordon luck!" says he. "Of course we were unprepared for such methods as he employed against us. Up to that time no one had thought of stealing an advance copy of the government crop report and using it to break the market. However, it worked. Our corner went to smash. I was cleaned out. You might have thought that would have satisfied most men; but not Pyramid Gordon! Why, he even pushed things so far as to sell out my office furniture, and bought the brass signs, with my name on them, to hang in his own office, as a Sioux Indian displays a scalp, or a Mindanao head hunter ornaments his gatepost with his enemy's skull. That was the beginning; and while my opportunities for paying off the score have been somewhat limited, I trust I have neglected none. And now--well, I can't possibly see why the closing up of his affairs should interest me at all. Can you?" "Say, you don't think I'm doin' any volunteer frettin' on your account, do you?" says I. "I quite understand," says he. "But about seeing this lawyer--do you advise me to go?" He's squintin' at me foxy out of them shifty eyes of his, cagy and suspicious, like we was playin' some kind of a game. You know the sort of party J. Bayard is--if you don't, you're lucky. So what's the use wastin' breath? I steps over and opens the front office door. "Don't chance it," says I. "I wouldn't have anything happen to you for the world. I'll tell Judson I've come alone, to talk for the dictograph and stand on the trapdoor. And as you go down the stairs there better walk close to the wall." J. Bayard, still smilin', takes the hint. "Oh, I may turn up, after all," says he as he leaves. "Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep scorn. But if I'd been curious before about this invite to the law office, I was more so now. So shortly after two I was on hand. And I find Mr. Steele has beat me to it by a minute or so. He's camped in the waitin' room, lookin' as imposin' and elegant as ever. "Well, you ain't been sandbagged or jabbed with a poison needle yet, I see," says I. He glances around uneasy. "Mr. Judson is coming," says he. "They said he was--here he is!" Nothin' terrifyin' about Judson, either. He's a slim-built, youngish lookin' party, with an easy, quiet way of talkin', a friendly, confidin' smile; but about the keenest, steadiest pair of brown eyes I ever had turned loose on me. He shakes us cordial by the hand, thanks us for bein' prompt, and tows us into his private office. "I have the papers all ready," says he. "That's nice," says I. "And maybe sometime or other you can tell us what it's all about?" "At once," says he. "You are named as co-executors with me for the estate of the late Curtis B. Gordon." At which J. Bayard gasps. "I?" says he. "An executor for Pyramid Gordon?"