"Who--who are _you_ to say 'must not?'" he gibed, now wholly beside himself. "You--you, who love a vagabond, a tramp, scum and off-scouring of the gutter?" A strange, half-choking sound was his only answer. Then, with no word, she turned away from him, biting her lip lest she answer and betray herself. "Go!" he commanded, bloodless and quivering. "Go to your room. No more of this! We shall see, soon, who's master of this house!" She was already gone. Old Flint stood there a moment, listening to her retreating footfalls on the parquetry of the vast hall. Then, as these died he turned and groped his way, as though blind, back to his chair, and fell in it, and covered his eyes with both his shaking hands. For a long time he sat there, anguished and crucified amid all that unmeaning luxury and splendor. At last he rose and with uncertain steps sought his own suite, above-stairs. Billionaire and world-master though he was, that night he knew his heart lay dead within him. He realized that all the fruits of life were Dead Sea fruits, withered to dust and ashes on his pale and quivering lips. CHAPTER XX. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT. He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door. Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet. The servile one handed him a letter with a special-delivery stamp on it. "Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I knew this was urgent." "All right. Get out!" growled Flint. When the man was gone, he fortified himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope. It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency. With a rapid eye he glanced it over. Then uttering a sudden oath, he studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table. "Gods and devils!" he ejaculated. "What next?" The letter read: 142A Park Row, New York City, June 28, 1921. Isaac L. Flint, Esq., Idle Hour, Englewood, N. J. Dear Sir: Reporting in the matter of the young man who rescued your daughter, in the recent accident, let me say I have discovered his identity and some important facts concerning him. I take the liberty of thinking that your intention of rewarding him, when found, will be somewhat modified by this information. This man's name is Gabriel Armstrong, age 24. Occupation, expert electrical and chemical worker. A Socialist and labor agitator, of the most dangerous type, because intellectual and well-read. A man of considerable power and influence in Socialist and labor circles. Has been something of a wanderer. Is well known to union men and Socialists, all over the country. A powerful speaker, and resourceful.