Hartwell, having pacified the mine and the mill, had moved to the sanctum of the Blue Goose, with the idea of furthering his benign influence. Hartwell, Morrison, and Pierre were sitting around a table in the private office, Hartwell impatient for action, Pierre unobtrusively alert, Morrison cocksure to the verge of insolence. "Meestaire Hartwell will do me ze honaire to mek ze drink?" Pierre inquired. "Thanks." Hartwell answered the question addressed to him. "Mine is brandy." "A-a-ah! Ze good discrimination!" purred Pierre. "Not ze whisky from ze rotten grain; but ze _eau-de-vie_ wiz ze fire of ze sun and ze sweet of ze vine!" Morrison placed glasses before each, a bottle of soda, and Pierre's choicest brand of cognac on the table. "Help yourself," he remarked, as he sat down. Sipping his brandy and soda, Hartwell opened the game. "You see," he began, addressing Pierre, "things aren't running very smoothly out here, and I have come out to size up the situation. The fact is, I'm the only one of our company who knows a thing about mining. It's only a side issue with me, but I can't well get out of it. My people look to me to help them out, and I've got to do it." "Your people have ze great good fortune--ver' great." Pierre bowed smilingly. Hartwell resumed: "I'm a fair man. I have now what I consider sufficient knowledge to warrant me in making some radical changes out here; but I want to get all the information possible, and from every possible source. Then I can act with a perfectly clear conscience." He spoke decidedly, as he refilled his glass. "Then fire that glass-eyed supe of yours," Morrison burst out. "You never had any trouble till he came." Hartwell looked mild reproach. Morrison was going too fast. There was a pause. Morrison again spoke, this time sullenly and without raising his eyes. "He's queered himself with the men. They'll do him if he stays. They ain't going to stand his sneaking round and treating them like dogs. They----" "Mistaire Mo-reeson speak bad English, ver' bad." Pierre's words cut in like keen-edged steel. "On ze odder side ze door, it not mek so much mattaire." Morrison left the room without a word further. There was a look of sullen satisfaction on his face. Hartwell smiled approvingly at Pierre. "You've got your man cinched all right." "Hall but ze tongue." Pierre shrugged his shoulders, with a slight wave of his hands. "Well," Hartwell resumed, "I want to get at the bottom of this stage business. Fifty thousand doesn't matter so much to us; it's the thing back of it. What I want to know is whether it was an accident, or whether it was a hold-up." "Feefty tousand dollaire!" Pierre spoke musingly. "She bin a lot of monnaie. A whole lot." Pierre hesitated, then looked up at Hartwell. "Well?" Hartwell asked. "How you know she bin feefty tousand dollaire hin ze safe?" "Mr. Firmstone advised me of its shipment." "_Bien!_ Ze safe, where she bin now?" "In the river."