Masterson laughed, and resumed his seat, to discuss with the Professor the details of the plot. He did not seem much interested in the plans for the future, however, and seemed anxious to get away, yawning occasionally. He was now smug and confident, while Vixley seemed to have lost his nerve. The threatened newspaper revelations had cowed him. Madam Spoll was left out of the discussion; it was evident that her part of the affair was finished. Masterson left, promising his assistance if matters quieted down, and Payson could be brought under their influence again. By dinner-time he had thought the matter over to his satisfaction, and he therefore enjoyed himself with beer and cheap vaudeville till half-past ten. Then he strolled down Geary Street and marched up to Granthope’s office. It had taken all Granthope’s resolution to treat with Masterson, but it had seemed the only way, at present, to deal with the situation. Mr. Payson’s part in the materializing séance had not yet transpired. Masterson took a chair, crossed his legs and began: "Well, Frank, I’ve been thinking over your proposition to-day, and I’ve decided that I’ve got to raise the ante." "I thought that would be about your style," Granthope returned, "but I think I’ve offered you about all it’s worth." "Oh, it ain’t only my help that’s worth it, it’s you that’s worth it, so to speak. I’m getting on to your game, now, and I happen to know that you can afford to pay well; you see, I didn’t happen to know so much about this Payson girl, as I do now. If you’re tapping a millionaire’s family, why, I want my share of it." "I guess there’s no use discussing the matter, then, if that’s your theory. I can’t possibly pay more than what I’ve offered." "I’d advise you to hear me out, Frank," Masterson went on. "I said you could pay more, but I didn’t say what I had to offer wasn’t worth more, did I?" "Why is it worth more now than it was this forenoon?" Granthope asked impatiently. "It’s worth more, because I’ve seen Vixley, and I’ve found out things that it’s for your interest to know. I’m on the inside, now, and I’m prepared to make a better bargain." "I see; you’ve sold me out, and now you want to turn over and sell Vixley out for a raise? I might have guessed that!" He turned to his desk in disgust. "I don’t care what you think. I ain’t discussing high moral principles. I’m here to make a living in the quickest and most practical way. If you don’t care to hear what I’ve got to say, I’ll leave." "How do I know you’ve got anything of value to me? Why should I trust you?" "You can’t expect me to tell you, and then leave it to you to make a satisfactory price, can you?" "Oh, I don’t care what you’ve learned. We’ll call it all off." Granthope rose, as if to end the interview.