“Enough for all,” said the man. “Kindly oblige me by thinking of what you would do in my place; and, in all frankness, acknowledge that nothing would be easier than to get away. Ordinary crime is so largely accidental that the average criminal is at the mercy of even the unintelligent police. Professionals do the same thing over and over and acquire telltale mannerisms. Also, they lack culture, and find the class attraction too strong to resist--besides always being hard up and therefore defenseless. Whenever you find a crook who is thrifty, you will find him always out of jail--like any other business man of equal thrift. We have gone about this case systematically. We wanted your million--but, more, we wanted the sport of taking it from a man who had no moral right to the particular million we desired. If you had been a really conscienceless financier we'd have made it five millions; in fact, it is because we are not sure that even this million is tainted that we ask you to pay it to us for giving you a fine daughter-in-law. Shall we go up-stairs?” The master of the house led the way up-stairs and Mr. E. H. Merriwether, escorted by the stalwart footmen with the intelligent faces, followed, his own intelligent face impassive. That he was thinking meant only that he was doing what he always did. The man sat down in his chair, with his back to the stained-glass window. He asked, pleasantly: “What do you say now, Mr. Merriwether?” “I say,” the little czar answered, with a frown of impatience, or anger, or both, “that when you are tired of playing the damned fool I'd like to return to my business.” The man rose to his feet quickly, his face pale with anger. He took a step toward the financier, his fists clenched--and then suddenly controlled himself. “You jackass!” he said. “You idiot! Have you no brains whatever? Must I lash common sense into you? Take 'em off!” It was a command to the footmen. “Will you disrobe, sir?” very politely asked the oldest of them. Mr. Merriwether, six inches shorter than the speaker, and a hundred pounds lighter, drew back his fist, but the four men seized him and began to take his clothes off. Mr. Merriwether, recognizing the uselessness of resistance and the folly of having garments torn so far from home, helped by unbuttoning here and there. Presently he stood _in puris naturctlibus_. His face was pale and his jaw set tight. “Tie him!” commanded the master. They tied him to the library table, face down. “Music!” cried the man; whereupon the cometist began to play the Meditation from “Thaïs” softly, but obviously ready to play fortissimo at a signal from the chief. “I am going to lick you with a whip; and, for every lash I give you, you will have to pay me one hundred thousand dollars in addition to the original million. Theatrical, is it?” And his voice was hoarse with anger. “Yes? Well, look at this melodramatic whip. Your tragedy will be my comedy, you--------jackass!”