They arrived at the Plaza in less than ten minutes. Mr. Fischer tipped the driver lavishly, suffered the hall porter to take his bag, returned his greeting mechanically, and walked with swift haste to the tape machine. He held up the strips with shaking fingers, dropped them again, hurried to the lift, and entered his rooms. Nikasti was in the sitting-room, arranging some flowers. Fischer did not even stop to reply to his reverential greeting. "Where's Mr. Van Teyl?" he demanded. "Mr. Van Teyl has gone away, sir," was the calm reply. "He left here the day before yesterday. There is a letter." Fischer took no notice. He was already gripping the telephone receiver. "982, Wall," he said--"an urgent call." He stood waiting, his face an epitome of breathless suspense. Soon a voice answered him. "That the office of Neville, Brooks and Van Teyl?" he demanded. "Yes! Put me through to Mr. Van Teyl. Urgent!" Another few seconds of waiting, then once more he bent over the instrument. "That you, Van Teyl?... Yes, Fischer speaking. Oh, never mind about that! Listen. What price are Anglo-French?... No, say about what?... Ninety-five?... Sell me a hundred thousand.... What's that?... What?... Of course it's a big deal! Never mind that. I'm good enough, aren't I? There'll be no rise that'll wipe out half a million dollars. I've got that lying in cash at Guggenheimer's. If you need the money, I'll bring it you in half an hour. Get out into the market and sell. Damn you, what's it matter about news! Right! Sorry, Jim. See you later." Fischer put down the telephone and wiped his forehead. Notwithstanding the fatigue in his face, there was a glint of triumph there. He laid his hand upon Nikasti's shoulder. "My friend," he said, "there's big proof coming of what I said to you the other day. You'll find that letter you carry will mean a different thing now. There's news in the air." "There has been a great battle, perhaps?" Nikasti asked slowly. "All that is to be known you will hear before evening," Fischer replied. "Tell some one to send me some coffee. I have come through from Washington. I am tired." He sank a little abruptly into an easy-chair, took off his spectacles, and leaned his head back upon the cushions. In the sunlight his face was almost ghastly. A queer sense of weakness had suddenly assailed him. His mind flitted back through a vista of sleepless nights, of strenuous days, of passions held in leash, excitement ground down. "I am tired," he said. "Telephone down to the office, Nikasti, for a doctor." Nikasti obeyed, and his summons was promptly answered. The doctor who arrived was pleasantly but ominously grave. In the middle of his examination the telephone rang. Fischer, without ceremony, moved to the receiver. It was Van Teyl speaking.