"I haven't time to tell you as much," he said breezily, "but I'll give you a few outlines." He pressed a bell at his desk, opened a big index, and ran his finger down. "Bring me 8874," he said impressively to the clerk who made his appearance. To John Minute's surprise, it was not a bulky dossier with which the attendant returned, but a neat little book soberly bound in gray. "Now," said Mr. Mann, wriggling himself comfortably back in his chair, "I will read a few things to you." He held up the book. "There are no names in this book, my friend; not a single, blessed name. Nobody knows who 8874 is except myself." He patted the big index affectionately. "The name is there. When I leave this office it will be behind three depths of steel; when I die it will be burned with me." He opened the little book again and read. He read steadily for a quarter of an hour in a monotonous, singsong voice, and John Minute slowly sat himself erect and listened with tense face and narrow eyelids to the record. He did not interrupt until the other had finished. "Half of your facts are lies," he said harshly. "Some of them are just common gossip; some are purely imaginary." Saul Arthur Mann closed the book and shook his head. "Everything here," he said, touching the book, "is true. It may not be the truth as you want it known, but it is the truth. If I thought there was a single fact in there which was not true my _raison d'etre_ would be lost. That is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Mr. Minute," he went on, and the good-natured little face was pink with annoyance. "Suppose it were the truth," interrupted John Minute, "what price would you ask for that record and such documents as you say you have to prove its truth?" The other leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands meditatively. "How much do you think you are worth, Mr. Minute?" "You ought to know," said the other with a sneer. Saul Arthur Mann inclined his head. "At the present price of securities, I should say about one million two hundred and seventy thousand pounds," he said, and John Minute opened his eyes in astonishment. "Near enough," he reluctantly admitted. "Well," the little man continued, "if you multiply that by fifty and you bring all that money into my office and place it on that table in ten-thousand-pound notes, you could not buy that little book or the records which support it." He jumped up. "I am afraid I am keeping you, Mr. Minute." "You are not keeping me," said the other roughly. "Before I go I want to know what use you are going to make of your knowledge." The little man spread out his hands in deprecation. "What use? You have seen the use to which I have put it. I have told you what no other living soul will know." "How do you know I am John Minute?" asked the visitor quickly.