It is astonishing what a motive power love is. With Eleanor Leigh in my heart, I went to work on my Tipps case with fury.

When I applied at the offices of the P. D. & B. D. and asked to be shown the books of the old company which had been reorganized and absorbed, I was met first by the polite assurance that there never was such a road as I mentioned, then that it had been wound up long ago and reorganized. Next, as I appeared somewhat firm, I was informed that the books had been burned up in a great fire, spoken of as Caleb Balderstone used to speak of the Ravenswood fire, as "the fire." This would have been an irremediable loss, but for the fact that I knew that there had been no fire since the reorganization of the company. I stated this fact with more positiveness than was usually employed in those offices and announced that unless those books were produced without further delay or misrepresentation, I would file a bill at once which would open the eyes of a number of persons. This procured for me an interview with an official of the vice-presidential rank—my first real advance. This proved to be my old acquaintance, Mr. Gillis, the agent of the Argand Estate. When I entered he wore an expression of sweet content as of a cat about to swallow a mouse. It was evident that he meant to have his revenge on me now. After stating my object in calling, with so much circumstantiality that there could be no mistake about it, I was informed by Mr. Gillis, briefly but firmly, that those books were not accessible, that they were "private property and not open to the public."

Stillman Gillis was a wiry, clear-eyed, firm-mouthed, middle-sized man of about middle age as older men regard it. He had a pleasant address, perfect self-assurance, and a certain cool impudence in his manner which I have often observed in the high officials of large corporations. He had, I knew, been the private secretary and confidential man of Mr. David Argand.

"I am aware that the books are private property," I said, "but it happens that I am myself one of the owners—I represent two very considerable owners of the stock of the old company."

He shook his head pleasantly. "That makes no difference."

I could not help thinking of the turnkey at the jail. It was insolence, but only of a different sort.

"You mean to say that it makes no difference whether or not I am a stockholder when I demand to see the books of the company in which I hold my interest?"

"Not the slightest," he admitted.

"I suppose you have consulted counsel as to this?"

"Oh! yes; but it was not necessary."

"Well! you have the books?"

"Oh! yes."

"Because some of your people told me that they had been burnt up in a fire."

"Did they tell you that?" he smilingly asked. "They did that to save you trouble."

"Considerate in them."

"Of course, we have the books—in our vaults."

"Buried?" I hazarded.

He nodded. "Beyond the hope of resurrection." He took up his pen to show that the interview was ended; and I took up my hat.

"Do you mind telling me who your counsel is that you consulted in these matters? I might prevail on him to change his mind."

"Oh! no. Mr. Collis McSheen is our counsel—one of them."

"Has he specifically given you this advice?"

"He has." He turned to his stenographer. "Take this letter."

"So—o." I reflected a moment and then tilted back my chair.

"Mr. Gillis—one moment more of your valuable time, and I will relieve you."

"Well?" He turned back to me with a sudden spark in his gray eye. "Really, I have no more time to give you."

"Just a moment. You are mistaken in thinking you are giving me time. I have been giving you time. The next time we meet, you will be a witness in court under subp[oe]na and I will examine you."

"Examine me? As to what, pray?" His face had grown suddenly dark and his insolence had turned to anger.

"As to what you know of the fraud that was perpetrated on the heirs of a certain Colonel Tipps who built and once largely owned the road I have spoken of."

"Fraud, sir! What do you mean?"

"As to what you know—if anything—of the arrangement by which a certain Collis McSheen sold out his clients, the said heirs of the said Colonel Tipps, to a certain Mr. Argand, whose private secretary you then were; and whose retained counsel he then became."

"What!"

His affected coolness was all gone. His countenance was black with a storm of passion, where wonder, astonishment, rage, all played their part, and I thought I saw a trace of dismay as well.

"What do you mean, sir! What do I know of the—the fraud—the arrangements, if there ever were any such arrangements as those you speak of?"

I was the insolent one now. I bowed.

"That is what I am going to ask you to tell in court. You have the books, and you will bring them with you when you come, under a subp[oe]na duces tecum. Good-day." I walked out.

As I approached my office, I saw Collis McSheen bolting out of the door and down the street, his face as black as a thunder-cloud. He was in such a hurry that he did not see me, though he nearly ran over me. He had evidently been summoned by telephone.

I was working on my bill a few days later when to my surprise Peck walked into my office. I knew instantly that there was mischief afoot. He looked unusually smug. He had just arrived that morning, he said. Mr. Poole had some important interests in a railway property which required looking after, and he had come on to see about them. There was not much to do, as the road was being capitally managed; but they thought best to have some one on the ground to keep an eye on the property, and remembering our old friendship, he had suggested that I be retained to represent Mr. Poole, if anything should at any time arise, and Mr. Poole had, of course, acted on his advice. Mr. Poole had in fact, always been such a friend of mine, etc. The trouble with Peck was that he always played a trump even when it was not necessary.

I expressed my sense of obligation to both him and Mr. Poole, but in my heart could not help recalling the chances Mr. Poole had thrown away to help me in the past.

"What sort of interests are they?" I inquired.

"Railway interests. He has both stocks and bonds—second mortgage bonds. But they are as good as gold—pay dividends straight along. The railway has never failed to increase its net earnings every year for ten years, and is a very important link in a transcontinental line."

"What railway did you say it was?" I inquired, for I had observed that he had not mentioned the line.

"Oh! ah! the P. D. & B. D."

"Oh! Well, the fact is, Peck, I don't know that I could represent Mr. Poole in any litigation connected with that road."

"Oh! it is not litigation, my dear fellow. You'd as well talk about litigation over the Bank of England. It is to represent him as a sort of regular——"

"I know," I cut him short, "but I think there will be some litigation. The fact is, I have a claim against that road."

"A claim against the P. D. & B. D.! For damages, I suppose?"

"No. To upset the reorganization that took place——"

Peck burst out laughing. "To upset the reorganization of that road which took place ten—twenty—How many years ago was it? You'd better try to upset the government of the United States."

"Oh! No——"

"Come now. Don't be Quixotic. I've come here to give you a good case that may be the beginning of a great practice for you. Why you may become general counsel."

"I thought Mr. McSheen was general counsel? You said so, I remember, when you were here before."

"Why, ah! yes. He is in a way. You would, of course, be—in a way, his—ah——"

"Peck," I said, and I kept my eye on him blandly. "Have you seen Mr. McSheen since your arrival?"

"Why, yes, I have. I had to see him, of course, because he is, as I told you, the general counsel——"

"In a way?" I interpolated.

"Yes. And of course I had to see him. It would not have been quite professional if I had not."

"And he assents to your proposition?"

"Oh! yes, entirely. In fact, he—" He paused and then added, "is entirely satisfied. He says you are an excellent lawyer."

"Much obliged to him. I beat him in the only case I ever had against him."

"What was that?"

"Oh, a small case against the Argand Estate."

"Oh! Well now, Glave, don't be Quixotic. Here is the chance of your life. All the big people—the Argand Estate, Mr. Leigh, Mr. McSheen, Mr. Canter. Why, it may lead you—no one can tell where!"

"That is true," I said, quietly. Then quite as quietly I asked: "Did Mr. McSheen send for you to come on here?"

"Did Mr. McSheen send for me to come on here? Why, no. Of course, he did not. I came on to look after Mr. Poole's interest."

"And to employ me to represent him?"

"Yes."

"And to give up my clients as McSheen did?"

"What!"

"Peck, tell Mr. McSheen that neither my dog nor myself is for sale."

"What! I—I don't understand," stammered Peck.

"Well, maybe so. But you give McSheen the message. He will understand it. And now I will explain it to you, so you may understand." I explained briefly to him my connection with the matter and my proposed line of action; and he naturally endeavored to satisfy me as to the absolute futility of such a course as I proposed.

"Why, consider," he said, "the people you will have to contend with—the idea that you can prove fraud against such persons as Mr. Leigh, the Argands, Mr. McSheen."

"I don't expect to prove fraud on Mr. Leigh," I quickly interposed.

"You will have to sue him. He is a director."

"I know it. But he came in after the transaction was completed and I believe knew nothing about it, and he has left the directory. But why are you so interested in Mr. Leigh? His interests in the street-car lines are directly opposed to Mr. Poole's."

"I am not interested in Mr. Leigh, but in you. Why, do you imagine any judge in this city would even consider a bill charging fraud against such persons as those I have mentioned? For I tell you they will not. You will just make a lot of enemies and have your trouble for your pains."

"Perhaps so—but Peck, you have not mentioned all the people I shall have to sue."

"Who do you mean? I have only mentioned one or two."

"Mr. Poole."

Peck's countenance fell.

"Mr. Poole! What did he have to do with it?"

"He was one of them—one of those who engineered the reorganization—and swin—engineered the heirs of Colonel Tipps and some others out of their interest. Well, give my message to Mr. McSheen," I said, rising, for Peck's duplicity came over me like a wave. "You may understand it better now. Neither my dog nor I is for sale. Peck, you ought to know me better."

Peck left with that look on his face that used to annoy me so at college—something that I can best describe as a mechanical simper. It had no warmth in it and was the twilight between indifference and hate.

Peck evidently conveyed my message.

While I worked on my case, Mr. McSheen was not idle. Not long after, I was walking along a narrow, dark street on my way home from my office late one night when I was struck by Dix's conduct. It was very strange. Instead of trotting along zigzag going from corner to corner and inspecting alleyways for chance cats to enliven life, as he usually did at night when the streets were fairly empty, he kept close at my heels, now and then actually rubbing against my knee as he walked, as he did in the crowded section when I took him along. And once or twice he stopped and, half turning his head, gave a low, deep growl, a sure signal of his rising anger. I turned and gazed around, but seeing no cause for his wrath, concluded that a dog was somewhere in the neighborhood, whom he detected though I could not see him. I was aware afterward that I had seen two men pass on the other side of the street and that they crossed over to my side near the corner ahead of me; but I took no notice of them. I had a pleasanter subject of thought as I strolled along. I was thinking of Eleanor Leigh and building air castles in which she was always the chatelaine.

Dix's low growl fell on my ear, but I paid no heed. The next second—it was always a little confused in my mind, the blow came so quickly—I was conscious of a man—or two men, springing from behind something just at my side and of Dix's launching himself at them with a burst of rage, and at the same moment, something happened to me—I did not know what. A myriad stars darted before my eyes and I felt a violent pain in my shoulder. I staggered and fell to my knees; but sprang up again under a feeling that I must help Dix, who seemed to have been seized by one of the men in his arms, a stout stumpy fellow, while the other was attempting to kill him with a bludgeon which he carried. I flung myself on the latter, and seizing him by the throat bore him back against the wall, when he suddenly twisted loose and took to his heels. Then I turned on the other who, I thought, was trying to carry Dix off. I found, however, that instead he was making a fight for his life. At the moment he dropped a pistol which he was drawing and I sprang for it and got it. Dix had leaped straight for his throat and, having made good his hold, had hung on and the man was already nearly strangled. "For God's sake, take him off. Kill him. I'm choking," he gasped as with weakening hands he tore at the dog's massive shoulders. "I'm choking." And at that moment he staggered, stumbled, and sank to his knees with a groan.

Fearing that he would be killed on the spot, though I was sick and dizzy from the blow, I seized Dix by the throat and with a strong wrench of his windpipe at the same time that I gave him an order, I broke his hold. And fortunately for the ruffian, his heavy coat collar had partially saved his throat.

The wretch staggered to his feet with an oath and supported himself against the wall while I pacified Dix, who was licking his chops, his hair still up on his back, his eyes still on his enemy.

"Are you hurt?" I asked, for, though still dizzy, the need to act had brought my senses back.

"What business is that of yours?" he demanded brutally. "Wait a minute. I'll kill that d——d dog."

The reply to my inquiry was so brutal that my anger rose.

"You drunken beast! Say a word and I'll give you to him again and let him worry you like a rat. You see him! Keep back, Dix!" for the dog, recognizing my anger, had advanced a little and flattened himself to spring on the least provocation.

"I didn't mean no offence," the fellow growled. "But I don't like a d——d dog to be jumpin' at me."

"You don't! What did you mean by trying to murder me?"

"I didn't try to murder you."

"You did. I have no money—not a cent. I'm as poor as you are."

"I wa'n't after no money."

"What then? What had I ever done to you that you should be after me?"

"I wa'n't after you."

"You were. You tried to kill me. You've cut my head open and no thanks to you that you didn't kill me."

"'T wa'n't me. 'T was that other fellow, the skunk that runned away and left me."

"What's his name?"

"I don' know. I never seen him before."

"What are you lying to me for? What's his name and why was he after me? Tell me and I'll let you go—otherwise—I'll give you to the police."

"I'll tell you this—he's a friend of a man you know."

"Of a man I know? Who?"

"He's a big man, too."

"A big man! Do you mean—You don't mean Coll McSheen?"

"I didn't tell you, did I? You can swear to that. Now give me five dollars and let me go."

"I haven't any money at all, but I'll take you to a doctor and get your wound dressed. I have to go to one, too."

"I don' want no doctor—I'm all right."

"No, I won't give you up," I said, "if you'll tell me the truth. I'm not after you. If I'd wanted to give you up, I'd have fired this pistol and brought the police. Come on. But don't try to run off or I'll let you have it."

He came along, at first surlily enough; but presently he appeared to get in a better temper, at least with me, and turned his abuse on his pal for deserting him. He declared that he had not meant to do me any harm, in fact, that he had only met the other man accidentally and did not know what he was going to do, etc.

I was so fortunate as to find my friend Dr. Traumer at home, and he looked after the wound in the scoundrel's throat and then took a look at my hurt.

"You had a close graze," he said, "but I don't think it is anything more serious than a bad scrape on your head, and a laceration and bruise on the shoulder."

While he was working on the footpad I telephoned Langton, got hold of him and asked him to come there, which he said he would do at once. Just as the doctor was through with me, Langton walked in. I never saw so surprised an expression on his face as that when his eyes fell on my thug. I saw at once that he knew him. But as usual he said nothing. The thug, too, evidently knew he was an officer; for he gave me one swift glance of fear. I, however, allayed his suspicion.

"It's all right," I said, "if you tell me the truth. Who is he?" I asked Langton. He smiled.

"Red Talman. What've you been up to?" he asked.

"Nothin'."

"I brought him here to have his wound dressed, and he's going directly. I have promised him."

He nodded.

"Coll McSheen put him on to a little job and he bungled it, that's all."

Langton actually looked pleased; but I could not tell whether it was because his warning had been verified or because I had escaped.

"'T was that other skunk," muttered Talman sullenly.

"Who? Dutch?"

The footpad coughed. "Don' know who 'twas."

"You don't? You don't know who I am either?"

The man gave him a keen look of inspection, but he evidently did not know him. Langton leaned over and dropped his voice. "Did you ever know—?" I could not catch the name. But the thug's eyes popped and he turned white under his dirt.

"I didn't have nothin' 't all to do with it. I was in Canady," he faltered.

Langton's eyes suddenly snapped. "I know where you were. This gentleman's a friend of mine," he said. "He saved my life once, and if you ever touch him, I'll have you—" He made a gesture with his hand to his throat. "Understand? And not all the bosses in the city will save you. Understand?"

"I ain't goin' to touch him. I got nothin' against him."

"You'd better not have," said Langton, implacably. "Come here." He took him out into the doctor's front office and talked to him for some little time while I told the doctor of my adventure.

"Who is Langton when he is at home?" I asked him.

He chuckled. "He is the best man for you to have in this city if Coll McSheen is your enemy. He is a retainer of Mr. Leigh's."

Just then Langton and the thug came in.

"Say, I'm sorry I took a hand in that job," said the latter. "But that skunk that runned away, he put 't up, and he said 's another friend of his got him to do it."

"Coll McSheen?"

"I don't know who 'twas," he persisted.

I glanced at Langton, and he just nodded.

"Good-by. If ever you wants a job done——"

"Get out," said Langton.

"Don't you give 't to that other skunk. I didn't know. Good-by. Obliged to you." And he passed through the door which Langton held open for him.

"It's all right," said the latter as he closed the door. "You had a close graze—that's one of the worst criminals in the country. He don't generally bungle a job. But he's all right now. But there are others."

"My dog saved my life—he got his throat."

"That's a good dog. Better keep him close to you for a while."