Under fire Drury Villard always appeared to great advantage. He knew nothing of defeat. His life work had been a succession of victories, and among his acquaintances there were those who credited his achievements to luck. As a young man he came very near having imposed upon him the sobriquet "Lucky" Villard—but he frowned upon it until his intimates felt the unwisdom of that sort of familiarity. Parkins alone of the directory continued the practice long after the business had grown into vast importance and the Villard name had become known all over the world. While credited with being the brains and motive power of the huge concern Drury Villard had never allowed any one to say it to his face without protest on his own part. Said he—

"If I've done anything particularly well it is to have surrounded myself with clever men of brains and honesty. With that foundation the rock of Gibraltar had nothing on us, except age and advertisement. The latter we supplied in a measure suitable to our needs—but youth must be served. We must now revitalize or inevitably fall before the young college trained men now running the country."

Always modest, never oversanguine, self-reliant and honest to the core, were attributes upon which to build a happy old age free from care and strife. One of Villard's beliefs was that God never intended everything to run smoothly—"all of the time." Reactions were necessary. Foundations, no matter how solid in the beginning, must be looked after, and kept solid. Nothing should be left to chance.

And so it was on going back to bed, after Parkins' departure, that his mind reverted to the affairs of his company. On these his thoughts concentrated. He wondered if he had exhibited the right policy in turning its management over to his co-partners. Not if the Parkins' case was an example of further consequences. That was his thought. He wondered if others in the organization were susceptible to non-loyal utterances concerning himself and his paramount interests. The best way to get at the facts was to "look in on the boys every little while"—and that was about the last worry he indulged in preparatory to going to sleep. Then suddenly he felt the nearness of his loved one, and breathing softly he awaited her sweet voice. At last it came, in the form of a whisper, seemingly very close to his ear, but strangely difficult to locate.

"Drury—again I warn you. The man you sent away must never enter your life again. Dishonesty is fastened upon him. Attend at once. There is folly in waiting."

Villard, though startled, lay quite still. Then, after a long pause, he answered—

"Yes, Winifred—but for you I should have been taken unaware. Your warning gave me time to formulate a plan of action."

"Drury, my darling—you shall not live alone. You must marry a kindred spirit, a woman upon whom you may lavish the love that was mine. It is your nature to revere womankind."

"But what of my love for you, my Winifred—I——"

"And it is myself, incarnate, that you would marry," interrupted the invisible Spirit.

"How shall I know?" he faltered, overwhelmed at the suggestion.

"You will meet her—soon."

"Yes, yes—go on!"—he whispered hoarsely, but he waited in vain. The spirit of his dead love had gone back to its resting place among the stars.

Drury Villard accepted the theory that when a man is forty he is in the prime of life, and after that his physical powers wane. Nevertheless there were those who, by obedience to nature's laws, remained young at sixty. He knew that every five years a normal brain and a normal body become attuned to the next five-year period, and upon this theory Villard, now emerging into his forty-seventh year, had planned his activities. By virtue of his early training he had worked hard in working hours, and played hard during the daylight overlapping. Thus was served his grand physique and his growing brain, each getting its share of natural restoration.

During his first years in business his effort had been prodigious. Just out of college he had plunged into a new enterprise, the child of his own brain. Unique, and head and shoulders above those whom he drew about him—from a mental and physical standpoint—his leadership never was questioned. Each new acquisition to his organization was picked by virtue of his seemingly unerring knowledge of men. As he brought in a new recruit, that person had only to make good in order to become a "special partner." Under the contract with each man his continuance with the company hinged upon the will of Villard, and by common consent his fiat was law.

Of all the men chosen, Parkins, the brightest of the lot, had been the one man to flunk. Now, secretly, Villard was on his way to New York for the one purpose of bringing him back to the fold. Driving directly to the apartment in Park Avenue, where Parkins maintained his living quarters, he was informed that the gentleman had gone away. The superintendent was not quite sure that he had a right to give out information concerning his tenants. When asked as to when Mr. Parkins would probably return he declined to give an opinion.

"But where did he go?" demanded Villard.

"I do not know. He left no address," was the reply.

"Then tell me what you do know. When did he leave? Did he move his effects?"

"He left soon after he returned here in the early morning. His furnishings are all here—and he left a check for next month's rent. That's all I know."

"Are you in full charge here?" inquired Villard, peering wistfully in the eyes of the man before him.

"Yes," replied the agent, shortly.

"Tell me then, in what condition was he when he arrived—and when he went away."

"Very angry on his arrival—very much upset on going away. I thought he might have taken something for his nerves."

"Did he speak to you on leaving?"

"Yes, I came in as he was leaving. He gave his check for rent to the exchange girl—to be handed to me. I got it all right. And that's all I know."

"And your name, please?—'Bender?'—thank you, Mr. Bender. I may wish to speak with you again. My name is Villard, a very close friend of Mr. Parkins, and I have business matters requiring his presence at my office. If he shows up, kindly ring my phone—Private, one hundred. It will be to his advantage, I assure you."

Villard was soon within his own office and nervously pacing the floor. With his hands behind him he twiddled his thumbs and gave way to deep thought.

"Parkins must be saved!" he said to himself, and quickening his stride, he rushed out of his private office into the counting room.

"Ring my chauffeur," said he, seeing and speaking to no one in particular, then returned to his office. Shortly afterward his car was announced and he was soon headed for the Wall Street district.

At the Updyke Detective Agency, twentieth floor of the Universal Exchange, he asked for Updyke personally and was ushered in. The two shook hands cordially and at once got down to business.

"Do you know William Parkins—one of my special partners?" questioned Villard.

"I'd say I do—what's up?"

"I can't find him."

"Where have you looked?"

"Called at his apartment—he'd gone from there, leaving a check for a month's rent!" replied Villard.

"When?"

"Early this morning—left no word—but paid the month's rent in advance—which was unusual."

"Um—any reason to be anxious about him?"

"I'll give you the whole story."

Then, careful as to details, Drury Villard recited the facts briefly and wound up by declaring that he was "bent on saving Parkins from any untoward act that might lead to his downfall—financially, morally or physically."

"That's a big order to take down," replied Updyke, laconically.

"Why?"

"Do you assume to know Bill Parkins from hat to shoes? Do you know that he is speculating upward on a downward market? Do you know that he is a drunkard, that he takes dope, patronizes low places, and is a disgrace to your high class concern?"

Villard, aghast, stood up and walked to and fro, across the room. Finally he turned and said—

"He must be saved!"

"Saved! Saved Hell! Why, man alive, he is beyond redemption!" yelled Updyke, whose forcefulness caused Villard to eye him critically. Evidently there were matters concerning his Vice President of which he was unaware.

"How long has he been beyond redemption?" questioned Villard in an even tone of voice striving to conceal the alarm within him as best he could.

"I'll look up his record," replied Updyke, ringing a bell and ordering out a certain page from a loose-leaf book of records. As he placed it in Villard's hands, he glanced at it to make sure it was the right document.

"Here we have his travelogue for five years back," said Updyke, airily. "It began with a gay party in which he was accused of short changing a fifty dollar bill that he was asked to break. There was a resort to blows, in which Parkins got licked and owned up to his dishonesty. Read his whole record—here it is—take it."

Villard did take it, and as he read along his eyes filmed until tears ran down his cheeks and fell upon the page containing the record. Then suddenly he threw it upon Updyke's table in disgust.

"Why didn't you inform me?" demanded Villard in tremulous voice. "I'm your client—am I not?"

"You are, Mr. Villard, but—I thought I could save him without prejudicing his outlook with you. I got soft hearted—same as you are at this minute; and I got a worse dose, and more of it for my trouble. I tried my utmost to show him that you were the best man in shoe leather, and would forgive anybody, anything, any time. But there is a breaking point that will not stand repair, and Parkins had gone through the crevice. Don't try to save that man, Mr. Villard. He is not worth the tarnish that he will spread upon your good name. Send me his 'walking papers' and I'll see that he gets them. Make it brief—no accusations, giving him a chance to sue you for damages in large amount. He's tricky, and crazy. Get rid of him! Stay rid of him! He is a bad actor!"

Updyke was telling the truth, as Villard, having read the report, was now convinced.

"What shall I say? What can I say? The report from your files leaves me helpless in defense of my most efficient partner. Surely the report cannot be wrong? I've never had one from you that was the least bit out of line with the facts. What shall I say to him if I conclude to communicate with him?"

"Better write me a note, stating that Mr. Parkins has not been about the office with regularity, and that you fear he lacks interest in the affairs of the company. Send me the cash for all you owe him, and a receipt for him to sign, made out in full legal wording to the effect that it is a final settlement—and that his services are no longer needed. If he owns any stock in your concern, and he does, unless he has hocked it, send me a check to cover its full market value, and I will buy it back, and turn it over to you."

Villard sighed deeply as he agreed to the plan.

"I did so want to save this man, but I've been warned before, from a sacred source, to have done with him forever," said he wearily.

"What do you mean by 'sacred source'?"

"Oh, I must not go into that!" replied Villard sharply.

"I get you—some of that 'Over the River Jordan' stuff. I get you," laughed Updyke.

"Just what are you hinting at, Mr. Updyke?"

Villard's voice trembled as he spoke.

"Now, Drury Villard! Don't you know by this time that an up-to-date agency like this has a page on every business man worth while, as well as the worthless? Let me show you your sheet. Wait, I'll get a leaf out of a different book—here it is and you may read it yourself. Skip the biographical—that shows you to be first class, but you've recently given cause for alarm. Read Article Seven. Read it aloud, and comment as you will. We're friends, and you might need me as a witness some day."

Glancing quizzically at Updyke, Villard began to read the report—

"Article 7—Drury Villard has recently developed an obsession of mind regarding the future estate. He has long grieved over the death of a sweetheart who passed away some years ago and at this writing he suffers under the delusion of hearing her voice. On retiring from active duty in connection with the Villard Corporation, he was very generous in his treatment of his special partners. He allowed them to buy stock at a very low price, and later on, is to let them have more, if they succeed with the business. Villard still owns a three-fourths holding but all partners were treated alike and are well satisfied with the deal. William Parkins is also Vice-President, but the office of President has been abolished, Drury Villard becoming Chairman of the Board. He now lives in a retired way in Long Island on his private estate which he has named 'Dreamy Hollow.' His fiancÉ, now dead, given name, 'Winifred'—surname unknown. His nearest neighbor (Sawyer), a retired doctor, lives on adjoining estate, said to be very wealthy."

"Now what miserable cur could have written all of that rot!" exclaimed Villard.

"Point out all that is in error and I'll change the report. We must keep up our records," said Updyke, sharply, with a wave of his hand. "There isn't a chance in the world that this record will be observed by any one not connected with our office. I give nothing out on death notices, or biographies."

"Then for what purpose?" demanded Villard.

"Oh, if you became a crook, or went crazy, we would be queried by certain interests. We ask no favors. This business is mine. I made it what it is, and it's worth a million as it stands. If I was crooked I could say it's worth a hundred million."

"God—what a power you hold! In case of your death, what a cruel use could be made of those leaves from your records! What a chance for certain slimy little blackmailing publications!"

"My body will be cremated, and with it my books of record. That's part of my will. Now I'm going to ease your mind—you have the page containing the facts about you. It is the only copy on earth. The notes from which it was made up have been destroyed. If you desire I will destroy the page in your presence, right now," proffered Updyke.

Villard was astonished at the proposal.

"I wouldn't care one way or the other, if it wasn't for——"

"Yes, I know," responded Updyke, "you're thinking of the dead. You don't want her name bandied about."

"That's it—I am thinking of her—to memory dear. It's good of you, Updyke. Downright generous! But why do you propose it without my asking?"

Villard began to pace the floor.

"Sit down, please," said Updyke gently, as he twisted his watch chain, and cleared his throat of a great lump of hesitancy. "I once had a sweetheart, Mr. Villard, and she went away, too—somewhere up in the skies, just like your Winifred. And like you I have never married. I cannot spare the memory of her—I'll die single!"

Every doubt of Updyke's genuine friendliness was now discarded by Drury Villard, as his eyes lighted with reciprocal understanding.

"Wonderful, old fellow! Let us find joy in the fact that we have both loved, and both of us have been loved. Now we will burn this record. That shall be the seal of our lasting friendship."

Villard's eyes spoke for his heart.

"Here, take it—burn it yourself, Drury. I shall call you by your first name hereafter."

Turning upon his heel, Henry Updyke walked to a window and looked down twenty stories upon the great metropolis, its streets agog with people and traffic. When he heard the click of the latch on the door, he turned about. Villard had gone. It was no longer necessary for Updyke to hide his emotion.

But there were things to be done immediately. Parkins must be found and delivered to Villard. Updyke pressed a button and immediately one of his operatives entered and approached his desk.

"Here's a name on this card—I want this man brought to me as soon as possible—by all means before night. Do you know him?"

"Very well by sight. I've looked him up before—don't you remember?"

"Oh, yes—the Peabody case. While drunk Parkins hit him over the head with a champagne bottle—yep—you brought Parkins in. It is a shame we didn't send him over at that time but he begged me to straighten him out and see that he reported for business next morning. I did it—and did it more than once since then. But this will probably be the last time we'll need hunt for him. His boss has something on him that will bring him to time—I hope. Parkins is a bad egg, so watch out for him, especially if he is in his cups. Now go to it—bring him to me if you have to give him a teaser."

For four hours Updyke sat in his chair, or paced the floor, awaiting word from his operative. He smoked incessantly while reading the evening papers and at six thirty o'clock ordered ham and eggs, and coffee. These had been set before him when the night telephone gong gave three loud clangs. That meant Updyke himself—in a hurry. He sprang to the receiver and in a quiet unruffled voice answered, "Shoot."

"Number twelve speaking—your party dashed through Patchogue about eleven this morning and was last seen going east at high speed. Lost trace until just a few minutes ago. Find that he has a fishing hut across South Bay on the ocean side. He's bound to come back this way—the question is, when?"

"Where are you now?"

"Patchogue."

"What do you advise?"

"Well, I have my motorcycle, and I feel certain he will come back this way. If I went over on the ocean side I might have sand trouble. He has four wheels and a ninety horse roadster. I think I'd better stay here," concluded "Number Twelve."

"I believe you are right," replied Updyke. "How about the Sayville road? He might, for a change, cut across and run in by way of the sound. I think I'll put two other men out on this, you to carry out your plan, one to watch the Merrick road, the other on the detour along the sound."

"That might be wise although it seems certain he will come back this way. What shall I do when I locate him?"

"Serve a 'John Doe' on him and bring him to my office, otherwise trail him to the jumping-off place—in other words, get him!"

"By the way, there is a fine looking girl at Patchogue who runs a stand. I wonder how it would do to feel her out about him," queried the operative.

"You bet your boots—that's a Parkins lead as sure as you live, even if it does turn out bad."

"Then I'd better run back there before she closes up for the day. She's a humdinger to look at," said "Number Twelve" with enthusiasm.

"Well, see that she doesn't get your goat. Keep your head on your shoulders and don't be led into any girl trap. Get me at my hotel after seven, through my private wire—'Updyke'—Will be here until six-thirty—So long."