"I don’t know what you are talking about!" he cried angrily, but I read in his eyes anxiety and surprise at the accuracy of my information. "Now if it were looking after them, I should want a larger fee than for looking after your plans with Big Sam." A shade of gray passed over his face, and he held up one hand and gave me a malevolent look. "Young Men talk a Good Deal of Nonsense," he said. "Now if you’re through with your joke, we’ll go back to talking Business." His sardonic voice showed that he was again thoroughly in command of himself, but I felt convinced that he was more eager than ever to secure my services. "Now what’s your figure?" "You haven’t told me yet what you expect me to do." He looked about cautiously, and then studied my face for a little before he replied. "I’ll tell you what it is," he said slowly. "You are in charge of Kendrick’s campaign. I want you to stay in charge of it, but to run it according to My orders instead of according to His orders." "How long do you think I could keep the job on those terms?" I asked. "You’ve known Mr. Kendrick forty or fifty years. You must have got the impression in that time that he isn’t altogether a fool. How long do you think he would stand it? About long enough to kick me out of his office, wouldn’t he?" "He’ll stand it long enough to suit My purpose," replied Peter Bolton, his sardonic smile tightening the corners of his mouth. "My orders will be His orders until the day comes that I am ready to put my hand on him." He reached out his long, bony fingers cautiously, and then brought his palm down on his desk with a thump as though he were catching a luckless fly. "When the time comes, an hour will be enough," he continued. "All I want you to do is to bring His orders to Me, before you carry them out. Then do as I tell you." His jaws closed with a snap, as though they were a trap, and Wharton Kendrick were between them. "That sort of legal advice is worth a good deal of money," I said. "You can afford to pay well for it, for you’ll make a big clean-up. I’ll have to be paid well for it, for if it were to be found out, I could never do any more business in this town." Peter Bolton gave me a shrewd look, as though he thought he was sure of me. "I offered you Ten Thousand Dollars," he said, trying to make the sum sound very large, "but I won’t stick at a thousand or two more. I’m not a close man with those I like--" "It’s worth a good deal more," I interrupted. He looked disappointed. Then he studied the desk, and appeared to be making up his mind to some great sacrifice. "Well," he said slowly and grudgingly, "name your figure." "I should think fifty thousand dollars was about right." Peter Bolton gave a shudder, and pondered for a little. Then the shrewd look came again into his eyes, and he said: