“Huh!” Bainbridge lifted the cigarette, and took a thoughtful puff or two. “That must be why he sent the message I found here a little while ago. Said if I was quite ready to crawl he’d be in his office till two this afternoon.” He hesitated a second longer, and then stood up with a sudden, determined squaring of his wide shoulders. “How about it, John?” he asked, a curious gleam in the dark eyes. “What do you say to making a call on the genial Elihu?” Tweedy rose heavily. “I give up.” he said, with a deep sigh. “Do as you like, son, it’s all one to me. Only don’t for an instant expect any from Elihu Crane. Personally I’d rather spare myself the humiliation of an interview which can result in no possible good, but if you’re keen on it----” He finished with an eloquent gesture of resignation which brought a sudden softness into the young man’s eyes. “By Jove, but you’re a sport!” he exclaimed, with a touch of his hand on the other’s shoulder, which was almost a caress. “Don’t you care, though, old man. It won’t take long, and I’ll attend to the talk. All you’ll have to do will be to furnish me with the moral support of your presence.” CHAPTER XVII. THE VISIT TO ELIHU For so many years Elihu Crane had preserved his impassive demeanor in public that he gradually ceased to let down the bars at all. Even in his own office--that inner sanctum which he had made as difficult of access as the specie vault of the Bank of England--he retained his pose. At this particular moment, even, holding in his hand that slip of paper which was the strongest thread in the web he had been weaving so long and patiently about his hated competitors, his face revealed nothing of the fierce joy which filled his soul. That paper was the note which fell due upon the morrow. Bainbridge & Tweedy could not meet it, he was certain. Their funds were exhausted; their credit gone. Barring a miracle, he held them in his power at last. He meant to exercise that power ruthlessly and without mercy. There was one little carping doubt in his mind--though that, too, was hidden behind the impenetrable mask. Was he to be deprived, after all, of the keen pleasure he had planned for himself--the pleasure of being the one imparting to young Bainbridge by word of mouth the exact status of his affairs, and a gloating account of what the future held in store? His letter had been placed in Bainbridge’s hands hours before. Bob was not obliged to come, but Crane had written with a perfect knowledge of the young man’s nature, coupled with all the diabolical cunning he possessed. It would be strange if the combination did not serve to goad the high-spirited youngster into doing what his former partner desired, and yet the minute hand of the clock was climbing swiftly upward from half past one, and there had come no word.