Livid with rage, the old Billionaire stood there shaking by his desk, his face a fearful mask of passions and evil lusts for vengeance and power. Slade, recognizing his master, even as President Supple on more than one occasion had been forced in terrible personal interviews to recognize him, said no word; but in the secret-service man's eyes a brutal gleam flashed its message of hate and loathing. Foul as Slade was, he balked at times, in face of this man's cruel and naked savagery. "I tell you," continued Flint, now having recovered his breath, "I tell you, you're worse than useless, you and your President, ha! ha!--President Puppet, indeed! Take that great Smoky Mountain clue, for instance! On the rumor that the ring-leaders of the swine were up there, somewhere, in the North Carolina mountains, you sent your two best men. And what's the latest news? What have you to tell me? _You_ know! Other airmen of yours have just reported that nothing can be found but ruins of the Socialist refuge, there--nothing but those, and the half-melted vanadium steel identification-tags of your best scouts! _And_ their machine is gone--and with it, the birds we wanted! Then, close on the heels of this, all wires go flat, all wireless breaks down, all rails are interrupted, and--and Hell's to pay!" Fair in Slade's face he shook his trembling first. "Urrh! You devilish, impotent faker! You four-flusher! You toy detective! You and your President, too, aren't worth the liquid oxygen to blow you to Hades! See here, Slade, you get out on this job, now, and do it damned quick, you understand, or there'll be _some_ shake-up in your office and in the White House, too. When I buy and pay for tools, I insist that the tools work. If they don't--!" He snatched up a pencil from the desk, broke it in half and threw the pieces on the floor. "Like that!" said he, and stamped on them. Waldron nodded approval. "Just like that," he echoed, "and then some!" "Go, now!" Flint commanded, pointing at the door. "Inside an hour, I want some reports, and I want them to be satisfactory. If you and Supple can't get things open again, and start the troops and machine-guns before then, look out! That's all I've got to say. Now, _go_!" CHAPTER XXXIII. "NOW COMES THE HOUR SUPREME." Hardly had the secret-service man taken his leave, slinking away like a whipped cur, yet with an ugly snarl that presaged evil, when Herzog appeared. "Come here," said Flint, curtly, heated with his burst of passion. "Yes, sir," the scientist replied, approaching. "What is it, sir?" Still shifty and cringing was he, in presence of the masters; though with the men beneath him, at the vast plant--and now his importance had grown till he controlled more than eight thousand--rumor declared him an intolerable tyrant. "Tell me, Herzog, what's the condition of the plant, at this present moment?" "Just how do you mean, sir?"