"I ain’t worryin’ about no bonus," returned Green, "but I am sort o’ worryin’ about you. Do you know what that day was that I nearly got took off?" "Do you mean what day of the week or month?" inquired Forrester. "That was the _last day_ o’ the ten days them guys give us! The only thing that saved you was probably the accidental droppin’ in o’ that friend o’ yours, Prentice, that night. He must’ve come while they was operatin’ on me. They’ve been gettin’ closer and and closer, Mr. Forrester, _but they’re at the doorstep now_!" Green rose to go. Forrester jumped from his chair and shook the man’s hand warmly. "One last piece o’ advice," whispered Green. "Watch the girl! Maybe she ain’t an actual criminal, but somebody’s got a good hold on her. What she knows about them people would most likely be an eye opener for you." CHAPTER XVIII—TRIANGULATION Green’s sudden departure, following the enforced and trying separation from Mary Sturtevant, depressed Forrester and left him with a sense of helpless loneliness. He ate dinner that night in a morose silence that called forth several cutting remarks from Josephine. After dinner Forrester sought the seclusion of his room in preference to the library. He wanted to be isolated in order to work out his problem, for Green’s words, coupled with the afternoon visit to Lucy, had aroused a determination to end the suspense quickly and finally. He had information that was unknown to the police—information which Green claimed to be vital—and he wanted to decide how to use it to the best advantage. Green’s intimation that Mary Sturtevant might not be an actual criminal gave a different twist to the situation. To conceive of her being a bandit queen had seemed preposterous, yet what other construction could be placed on her actions? But Forrester also recalled Prentice’s vague reference to a new angle in the case—a phase that had hitherto not been thought of. "Something of world-wide significance," were his words. What connection could there be between these local, cold-blooded murders and the rest of the world? Unexpectedly a great light seemed to come—swift, overwhelming, terrific in its magnitude. Forrester caught his breath. _Red interests!_ Why not? Was not the long arm of Bolshevism reaching out everywhere in an effort to destroy nations and bring about a new order of things; could not some master mind have devised, with grim humor, a plan to make so-called Capitalism pay the cost of its own destruction? Forrester’s head swam with these thoughts. He saw now that the savage reprisals for refusal to pay could not possibly be the work of ordinary men. Not even the most desperate criminal would take the risk of so arousing public wrath. On the other hand, would not the wholesale fear aroused among wealthy men by this method be part of Red propaganda?