“I’ll tell you,” he said rapidly. “J. G. Brown, of Portland, had two million feet, didn’t he? Creighton, of Rockland, bought half as much. There was Cox, of Portsmouth--Blanchard--Manning--Lafitte. You see, I _know_!” There was a ring in his voice which made Tweedy begin to tingle and sit forward, suddenly erect, in thrilling anticipation of the bombshell he felt sure was coming. “Why don’t you ask the questions you’re dying to? How? Why? You’re wild to know; I can see it in your eyes.” Bob laughed again, and Crane winced at the sound. “I’ll tell you. I know because they’re only my agents--buying--for--me!” “It’s a lie!” burst from Crane’s white lips. “They paid cash! You haven’t a cent.” “I have something better--unlimited credit. Shall I tell you who’s backing me because he hates the trust, and has faith in my ability to fight you? Wolcott Sears, of Boston. Now do you understand? Instead of ruining us by cutting rates, you’ve played straight into our hands. Timber values can’t go down. We’ll sell at market prices what we bought from you and clean up a cool half million on the deal.” With an inarticulate cry of fury, Crane leaped to his feet, and stood glaring at Bainbridge with flaming, maddened eyes. The mask of inscrutability had vanished from his face. One saw the real man now, stripped of the veneer of temperament and civilization. “It’s a plot!” he raved, shaking a skinny fist in Bob’s face. “It’s a vile conspiracy. I’ll take the case to court. I’ll have you jailed for----” “Sit down!” Bainbridge’s tone was not loud, but there was a compelling quality about it which stopped the boiling torrent of fury with amazing suddenness. Crane gulped hard, caught his trembling lips between his teeth--and finally subsided into his chair. “You talk of plots--you!” The young man’s voice was hard, cold, full of unutterable contempt. “Do you happen to know the penalty for conspiracy to commit arson--and worse?” “I don’t know--what you mean,” faltered Crane, avoiding the dark eyes bent so keenly on his face. “Oh, yes, you do. Look at these.” With a swift, dramatic motion Bainbridge suddenly jerked from his pocket some sheets of paper covered closely with erect, spitefully black writing, and held them before Crane. “Your own hand,” he accused. “Instructions to your henchman, Bill Kollock? I think the jury at your trial will consider them proof enough.” Crane’s jaw dropped. His white face had turned a sickly green. “You--wouldn’t--dare!” he gasped. “Wouldn’t I? Just let me show you.” Without waiting a reply, Bob leaned over, and, picking up one of the telephones, stood erect. “Headquarters,” he said briefly. Then, after a momentary pause: “That you, chief? This is Bainbridge. Will you send up those two plain-clothes men we arranged about? Yes, the arrest can be made any time. That’s all. Thank you!”