"I could scarcely expect that; I certainly should not ask for it. But you know that despite enormous benefactions, the Jews as a race bear the stigma of cupidity and meanness. It is wholly undeserved. The sums annually devoted to charitable purposes, by such a family as the Elschilds--my very good friends--are truly stupendous. But the Elschilds do not seek the limelight. Mr. Rohscheimer, Baron Hague, Sir Leopold Jesson, Mr. Hohsmann--and your father, are celebrated only for their unscrupulous commercial methods in the formation of combines. They do not distribute their wealth. Is it not true?" Zoe nodded. Vaguely, she felt indignant, but Severac Bablon was entirely unanswerable. Then: "Heavens!" she whispered--"here comes my father!" It was true. Mr. Oppner and the detective were approaching. "I wish to meet your father," whispered Severac Bablon. "Remember, I am Mr. Sanrack!" As he spoke, he watched her keenly. It was a crucial test, and both knew it. Zoe was slightly pale. She fully realised that to conform now to Severac Bablon's wishes was tantamount to becoming a member of his organisation (which operated against her father!)--was to take a possibly irrevocable step in the dark. Whilst in many respects she disagreed with Severac Bablon's wildly unlawful methods, yet, knowing something of his exalted aims she could not--despite all--withhold her sympathy. In some strange fashion, the wishes of this fugitive from the law partook of the nature of commands. But she could have wished to be spared this trial. Oppner came up. "Oh, father," began Zoe, striving to veil her confusion, "I don't think you have met Mr. Sanrack before? This is my father, Mr. Sanrack--Mr. Alden." The millionaire stared, ere nodding shortly. The detective showed no emotion whatever. "There is something which I am particularly anxious to explain to you, Mr. Oppner," began Sanrack, having acknowledged the introductions with easy courtesy. "It has reference to Severac Bablon!" Zoe held her breath. Alden moved his cheroot from the left corner of his mouth to the right. Mr. Oppner wrinkled up his eyes and scrutinised the speaker with a blank astonishment. "I hold no brief for Severac Bablon," continued the fascinating voice. "Nope?" drawled Oppner. "His deeds must speak for themselves. But on behalf of an important financial group I have a proposition to make." Mr. Oppner took a step forward. "What group's that?" "Shall I say, simply, the most influential in Europe?" "The Elschilds?" "If you consider them to be so, you may construe my words in that way." "Mr. Antony Elschild has been pulling my leg with some fool proposition about whitewashing the millionaire, or something to that effect. It's always seemed to me he's got more money than sense. He's passed out a cheque to this _Gleaner_ fund big enough to build a soap factory!" "So has Mr. Rohscheimer, and so has Baron Hague!"