“No; I didn’t know it,” answered Denton. “There is one thing I do know, and that is, heaps of money are being made by Greer, and some others on the outside, while me and my pals are doing the work and taking all the risks.” “Haven’t you received anything?” “Yes, a paltry five hundred dollars, and the promise of more,” replied Dick. “Greer dare not go back on you. Brodie will soon make him come to terms,” remarked Sophie. “Yes, but Brodie is in jail, worse luck,” said Denton. “You are in error. Skip got away yesterday; so the morning paper states.” “Now, things will work smoothly, or I’ll eat my head,” said Denton, joyfully. “I must go downstairs and tell that to Mackrell and Moses. I suppose the old gent won’t wake up for an hour or two?” “I will call you if he does.” Sophie was left alone with the banker. She bent over him, until her face was close to his, and she could count every wrinkle in his pale face, had she so desired. There was not a spark of pity in her breast for him. Instead, she was exultant. “Hilton Field,” she said, “you turned me from your door, but you did not recognize in the richly dressed woman the poor ballet girl when you came here this morning. For every heartache you caused me, you shall suffer a hundred. Your milk-and-water daughter weeps for you, and it will be long until she dries her eyes.” The banker slept on, and his breathing was as regular as that of a tired child. Sophie heaped threat after threat upon the sleeper. Had she had her way, the woman would have him killed--indeed, she would not hesitate committing the deed herself. This beautiful woman possessed the heart of a demon. Black-hearted and unforgiving, there was no crime so dark that she would not engage in, if the commission of it served her purpose or brought with it revenge. She still bent over the banker, when a hand was placed upon her shoulder. “Oh, it’s you, Wilbur!” “They have brought him here, I see,” remarked the newcomer. “He looks badly shaken up. I guess the boys must have given the old fellow rough treatment.” “And are you sorry for that?” she asked, bringing her face close to his and looking him straight in the eyes. He hesitated a moment and then answered: “It won’t do for him to die.” Wilbur walked into the adjoining room, where there was a desk, and, seating himself at it, he began to figure on a sheet of paper. Sophie followed, and, while he was at work, leaned over him. “You have heard from the city to-day, or you would not be figuring,” she said. “Yes,” he replied, “Smith telegraphed me. He has put out every cent he could get hold of, and has invested all ours, too. We shall clear an immense sum. The stock is a drug on the market, and can be got for almost nothing.” “What does he advise?” Sophie asked. “He telegraphed that Greer would bring things to a climax.” “What did he mean by that?”