“He is welcome to anything he can make out of us,” smiled Richards, grimly, and Kidder laughed so heartily that the broker looked pleased with himself and his witticism. He rang for the cashier, gave him the one hundred thousand dollars, and had the amount credited to James B. Robison, address unknown. II After leaving the office of Richards & Tuttle Mr. James B. Robison went to the Subway station at Wall Street, rode up-town as far as Forty-second Street, walked to Sixth Avenue, took a surface car, jumped off at Forty-eighth, walked to Forty-ninth, waited there for the next car, and, being certain he was not shadowed, rode on to Fifty-sixth Street. He got off, walked north on the avenue and, half-way up the block, paused at the entrance of the employment agency of “_Jno. Sniffens, Established 1858_.” On the big slate by the door he read that there was wanted a coachman--careful driver; elderly man preferred. He walked up-stairs one flight and accosted the agent. “Good morning, Sniffens.” “Good morning, Mr. Maynard,” answered Sniffens, son of the original Jno., very obsequiously. “Are they here?” “Yes, sir.” “How many?” “Seven.” “I've seen fifty-six so far--haven't I?” “No, sir,” contradicted Sniffens with the air of a man who will tell the truth even if death should resuit. “Fifty-five. You forget you saw the Swede twice.” “That is true, Sniffens. You are an honest man! Here!” And he gave ten dollars to the agent. “Send in the men.” He sat down in the inner office and Sniffens went out, presently to return with an elderly man. “This is Wilkinson--worked twenty-nine years--” “Sorry. Won't do. Here, my man! Take this two-dollar bill for your trouble. Next!” Much the same thing happened with the next four applicants. The fifth man, however, made Robison listen patiently while Sniffens finished his elaborately biographical introduction. The man's name was Thomas Gray; age fifty-eight; worked twelve years for General James Morris and fourteen for Stuyvesant R. Morris. Very careful. Excellent references. Morris family went abroad to live. Gray had not done anything for five years, but was willing and anxious to work. Robison, who had been studying Gray keenly, said sharply, and not at all nasally: “Height and weight?” “Five foot eleven and a half inches; one hundred and seventy pounds, sir.” “Deaf?” “No, sir.” “No?” “No, sir; but I don't hear as well as I did.” “Can you hear this?” And Robison whispered, “Constantinople!” “Beg pardon, sir!” Gray looked at Mr. Robison's face intently, but Robison shook his head and said: “No fair looking! That isn't hearing, but lipreading. Close your eyes and listen!” And he whispered, “Bab-el-Mandeb!” No one could have heard him three feet away and Gray was across the room. Robison raised his voice and said, “Did you hear that?” There showed in Gray's blue eyes a pathetic struggle between telling the truth and getting the job. “I--I only heard a faint murmur, sir.”