"What do you mean?" I asked. "I mean your immortal soul, Mr. Tompkins, your immortal soul," said Mr. Charles G. Smith. "Oh Lord! A religious crank!" I exclaimed. "Naturally," he agreed proudly. "I'd rather be crazy about God than nuts about money. Why not?" I looked at him with growing respect. "Why not, indeed?" I thought. "My case is out of your line, Mr. Smith," I told him. "They all say that," he replied, "but God doesn't think so." "My case _is_ different," I repeated. "You see, I have not one but two immortal souls." He nodded benignly. "I know," he said. "God told me that you were in trouble." "That sounds as though you and I were buddies, Mr. Smith," I observed. "Where can I find Him? It will take God Himself to straighten out my case." Smith shrugged his shoulders. "You can't find Him," he said. "You've got to wait until He finds you." CHAPTER 29 "Nonsense!" Germaine said emphatically. Hers was the authoritative tone of a mother assuring her child that the lightning cannot possibly hit the house in a thunderstorm. "I don't see how you can call it nonsense," I told her. "There he stood in my office, a little man with a big Adam's apple, telling me that God was on my track. I'm used to being followed by the F.B.I., but now this!" She stretched out in her chaise longue before the bedroom fire until I thought of the Apostle who stated that the Lord delighteth not in any man's legs. Obviously, he had never seen my wife's gams. "He sounds like a religious maniac," she observed. "He admitted it, Jimmie. He was even proud of it. When he was standing there he seemed to make more sense than most things that happen in Wall Street. He could be right." Germaine giggled. "If God finds you, Winnie," she said, "I hope He doesn't arrive when--I mean, it might be rather embarrassing?" "Again the one-track mind," I remarked. "You don't suppose that sex is any news to the Old Man, do you? He invented it, darling." "You know, Winnie," she replied dreamily, "sometimes you are almost a poet. Just the same, if He came after me I'd like to have Him find me with a new hairdo." "So far as I am concerned," I told her, "it's just as well the Old Man didn't catch up with me on some recent occasions. He might have received a false impression of my eligibility for the Club." "Pooh!" Germaine remarked with great decision. "He'd better not try any nonsense with you if I'm around. You're my Winnie and you're going to Heaven right along with me if I have to cheat the Customs." I yawned. "I hope Saint Peter will be suitably impressed and not like those tough guys at the Port of New York. What I'd really like to get at is all this business about Von Bieberstein. I'd never heard of him till last week and now it's got me jittery. Who he is God only knows and He hasn't tipped off the F.B.I."