“I might see Lang on the way down—and sound him a bit; he’s a late owl, usually in Keator’s after midnight.... I’d like to know what a first-class chemist like Lang would think about the possibilities of a discovery of this sort.... Surely somebody has undertaken it. There must be an active principle, as you say, in alcohol—some chemical element upon which it depends for its effect. And it might be possible to separate that from the other medium. It may be, in fact, some powerful element, of which there are only slight traces in the alcohol of commercial liquors.” The big distiller thrust himself forward in his chair. “Sure, Stetman!” he said. “Ain’t our chemists been saying that all along? And ain’t they been huntin’ it?... But they’re too little for the job! Sure, there’s something in alcohol that gives it the punch.” “Well,” the lawyer replied, “Lang is a pretty big man.... I’ll see you in the morning.” He rose. Arnbush went out with him into the corridor and, when the lawyer had gone, he took the elevator to his room. But Arnbush did not go at once to bed. He sat down by the window, looking out on the avenue and the passing vehicles, and through the cañons and vistas of the city, blue in the starlit night. He was bitter and determined. The great business of which he was the leading spirit had been ruined. He saw clearly that this was the end. He had a larger vision and a sounder judgment than his associates. Their desperate legal writhings almost amused him. They were plainly useless. Revenge was the only consolation open. He had an immense fortune, an incredible fortune; well, he would use a portion of it to nullify the victory of his enemies. He would sow their hopes with ruin, such ruin as the half-mad creatures never imagined. They could regulate and limit the use of commercial liquor, but the thing he would discover they could neither control nor regulate. Like Samson he would lay hold of the pillars of the house and all should go down to ruin with him. He would offer a sum so great that the ablest chemists of the world would be in his service. Five millions of dollars should go into this discomfiture of his enemies. He sat a long time before the window; finally a sound disturbed him. The telephone bell was ringing. He rose and went over to it. The voice speaking seemed far away, and the man thought it was a long-distance call from some remote point. “This is Neinsoul,” the voice said. “Come to our laboratory on Park Avenue; I think we have discovered the thing you are looking for.” It was a moment before Arnbush realized the message. Evidently Stetman had seen his man. And the chemists were keen; their interest could not wait. Well, five millions was a huge sum. They might very well fear that a cooler mood in the rich distiller would reduce the offer. But the hour was late, and Arnbush replied with some urgency upon the point. The thin, distant voice was insistent.