From the mysterious wastes which lie far out on the ocean, the fog was again creeping stealthily across the bay and into the throbbing arteries of the great city. Through half-opened doors and windows it rolled like smoke, and piled like drifted snow against the mountains of brick and stone. Caught for a moment on a transient breeze, it swirled around a towering pile on lower Broadway, and eddied up to the windows of the Ketchim Realty Company, where it sifted through the chinks in the loose frames and settled like a pall over the dingy rooms within.

To Philip O. Ketchim, junior member of the firm, it seemed a fitting external expression of the heavy gloom within his soul. Crumpled into the chair at the broad table in his private office, with his long, thin legs stretched out before him, his hands crammed into the pockets of his trousers, and his bullet-shaped head sunk on his flat chest, until it seemed as if the hooked nose which graced his hawk-like visage must be penetrating his breast-bone, the man was the embodiment of utter dejection. On the littered table, where he had just tossed it, lay the report of Reed and Harris on the pseudo-mineral properties of the Molino Company––the “near-mines” in the rocky caÑon of the far-off Boque. Near it lay the current number of a Presbyterian review, wherein the merits of this now moribund project were advertised in terms whose glitter had attracted swarms of eager, trusting investors.

The firm name of Ketchim Realty Company was something of a misnomer. The company itself was an experiment, whose end had not justified its inception. It had been launched a few years previously by Douglass Ketchim to provide business careers for his two sons, James and Philip. The old gentleman, still hale and vigorous, was one of those sturdy Englishmen who had caught the infection of ’49 and abruptly severed the ties which bound them to their Kentish homes for the allurements of the newly discovered El Dorado of western America. Across the death-haunted Isthmus of PanamÁ and up the inhospitable Pacific coast the indomitable spirit of the young adventurer drove him, until he reached the golden sands of California. There he toiled for many years, until Fortune at 31 length smiled upon his quenchless efforts. Then he tossed aside his rough tools and set out for the less constricted fields of the East.

He invested his money wisely, and in the course of years turned it several times. He became a banker. He aspired to the hand of a sister of a railway president, and won it. He educated his sons in the best colleges of the East, and then sent them to Europe on their honeymoons. And finally, when the burden of years began to press noticeably, and the game became less attractive, he retired from the field of business, cleared off his indebtedness, organized the Ketchim Realty Company, put its affairs on the best possible basis, and then committed the unpardonable folly of turning it over to the unrestricted management of his two sons.

The result was chaos. At the expiration of a year the old gentleman hurried back into the harness to save the remnant of his fortune, only to find it inextricably tied up in lands of dubious value and questionable promotional schemes. The untangling of the real estate he immediately took into his own hands. The schemes he left to his sons.

A word in passing regarding these sons, for they typify a form of parasitical growth, of the fungus variety, which in these days has battened and waxed noxious on the great stalk of legitimate commercial enterprise. They were as dissimilar, and each as unlike his father, as is possible among members of the same family. Both sought, with diligent consecration, the same goal, money; but employed wholly different means to gain that end. James, the elder, was a man of ready wit, a nimble tongue, and a manner which, on occasions when he could think of any one but himself, was affable and gracious. He was a scoffer of religion, an open foe of business scruple, and the avowed champion of every sort of artifice and device employed in ancient, mediaeval, or modern finance to further his own selfish desires, in the minimum of time, and at whatever cost to his fellow-man. In his cups he was a witty, though arrogant, braggart. In his home he was petulant and childish. Of real business acumen and constructive wisdom, he had none. He would hew his way to wealth, if need be, openly defiant of God, man, or the devil. Or he would work in subtler ways, through deceit, jugglery, or veiled bribe. But he generally wore his heart on his sleeve; and those who perforce had business relations with him soon discovered that, though utterly unscrupulous, his character was continuously revealed through his small conceit, which caused him so to work as to be seen of men and gain their cheap plaudits for his sharp, mendacious practices.

Philip retained a degree of his father’s confidence––which James wholly lacked––and he spared himself no pains to cultivate it. Though far less ready of wit than his stubby, bombastic brother, he was a tenacious plodder, and was for this reason much more likely ultimately to achieve his sordid purposes. His energy was tireless, and he never admitted defeat. He never worked openly; he never appeared to have a decided line of conduct; and no one could ever say what particular course he intended to pursue. Apparently, he was a man of exemplary habits; and his mild boast that he knew not the taste of tobacco or liquor could not be refuted. He was an elder in the Presbyterian church in the little suburb where he lived, and superintendent of its Sunday school. His prayers were beautiful expressions of reverent piety; and his conversation, at all times chaste and modest, announced him a man of more than ordinary purity of thought and motive. While it is true that no one could recall any pious deed, any charitable act, or any conduct based on motives of self-abnegation and brotherly love performed by him, yet no one could ever point to a single coarse or mean action emanating from the man. If there was discord in company affairs, the wanton James always bore the onus. And because of this, relations between the brothers gradually assumed a condition of strain, until at length James openly and angrily denounced Philip as a hypocrite, and refused longer to work with him. Thereupon the milder Philip offered the other cheek and installed a mediator, in the person of one Rawlins, a sickly, emaciated, bearded, but loyal Hermes, who thenceforth performed the multifold functions of pacificator, go-between, human telephone, and bearer of messages, documents, and what-not from one to the other for a nominal wage and the crumbs that dropped from the promoter’s table.

The fog and the gloom thickened, and Ketchim sat deeply immersed in both. He was still shaking from the fright which he had received that morning. On opening the door as he was about to leave his house to take the train to the city, he had confronted two bulky policemen. With a muffled shriek he had slammed the door in their astonished faces and darted back into the house, his heart in his throat and hammering madly. How could he know that they were only selling tickets to a Policemen’s Ball? Then he had crept to the window and, concealed in the folds of the curtain, had watched them go down the street, laughing and turning often to glance back at the house that held such a queer-mannered inmate.

Rousing himself from the gloomy revery into which he had lapsed, Ketchim switched on the light and took up again the 33 report of Reed and Harris. Sullenly he turned its pages, while the sallow skin on his low forehead wrinkled, and his bird-like face drew into ugly contortions.

“Fools!” he muttered. “Didn’t they see that clause in their contract, providing an additional fifty thousand in stock for them in case they made a favorable report?”

A light tap at the door, and a low cough, preceded the noiseless entrance of the meek-souled Rawlins.

“A––a––this is the list which Reverend Jurges sent us––names and addresses of his congregation. I’ve mailed them all descriptive matter; and I wrote Mr. Jurges that the price of his stock would be five dollars, but that we couldn’t sell to his congregation for less than seven. That’s right, isn’t it? I told him Molino stock would go up to par next month. That’s what you said, I believe.”

“How much stock did Jurges say he’d take?” demanded Ketchim, without looking up.

“Why, he said he could only get together two thousand dollars at present, but that later he would have some endowment insurance falling due––”

“How soon?”

“About a year, I think he said.”

“Well, he ought to be able to borrow on that. Did you write him so?”

“No––but I can.”

“Do so––but only hint at it. And tell him to send his check at once for the stock he has agreed to take.”

“Why, he sent that some days ago. I thought you––”

“He did?” cried Ketchim, his interest now fully aroused. “Well, where is it?”

“Er––your brother James received the letter, and I believe he put the check in his pocket.”

Ketchim gave vent to a snort of rage. “You tell James,” he cried, pounding the desk with his fist, “that as president and treasurer of the Molino Company I demand that check!”

“Yes, sir––and––”

“Well?”

“Mr. Cass ’phoned before you got down this morning. He said the bank refused to extend the time on your note.”

Ketchim sank back limply into his chair, and his face became ashen.

“And here is the mail,” pursued the gentle Hermes, handing him a bundle of letters.

Ketchim roused himself with an effort. His eyes flashed angrily. “Do you know whether James has been selling any of his own Molino stock?” he asked.

“I––I believe he has, sir––a little.”

“Humph! And how much?”

“He sold some two hundred shares yesterday––I believe; to a Miss Leveridge.”

“Leveridge? Who’s she? What did he get for it?”

“Why, the Leveridge children––grown men and women now––have just sold their farm down state; and Mr. James saw the sale announced in the papers. So he got in touch with Miss Alvina Leveridge. I believe he sent Houghton down there; and he closed a deal. Mr. James got eight dollars a share, I believe.”

“You believe! You know, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” meekly.

Ketchim gulped down his wrath, and continued:

“How much did the Leveridges get for their farm? And why didn’t you inform me of the sale?” he demanded, fixing the humble Rawlins with a cold eye.

“A––a––twenty-five thousand dollars, sir, I believe. And I didn’t see the notice until––”

“As usual, James saw it first! An excellent scout you are! Twenty-five thousand dollars! How many acres?”

“A hundred and eighty, I believe.”

Ketchim reflected. “James is still dickering with Miss Leveridge, I suppose?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Nezlett got back last night, didn’t he? Very well, call him up and tell him to get ready to go at once to––wherever the Leveridges live. And––I want to see him right away!”

He abruptly dismissed the factotum and turned to his mail. As his glance fell upon the pile he gasped. Then he quickly drew out a letter and tore it open. His thin lips moved rapidly as his eyes roved over the paper. He laid the letter down and looked wildly about. Then he took it up again and read aloud the closing words:

“––and, having bought somewhat heavily of Molino stock, and believing that your representations were made with intent to deceive, I shall, unless immediate reparation or satisfactory explanation is made, take such steps as my counsel may advise.

“Yours, etc.,
“J. WILTON AMES.”

Congealing with fear, Ketchim took his stock memorandum from a drawer and consulted it. “He put in ten thousand, cash,” he murmured, closing the book and replacing it. “And I always wondered why, for he doesn’t go into things that he can’t control. There’s where I was a fool! He shouldn’t have been sold a dollar’s worth! He knows we can’t return the money; and now he’s tightening the screws! He has something up his sleeve; and we’ve fallen for it!”

He settled back in his chair and groaned aloud. “Why did he buy? Did he think he’d reach Uncle Ted through us? By Jove! that’s it! For a year or more he’s wanted to oust Uncle from the C. & R., and now he thinks by threatening the family with disgrace, and us fellows with the pen, he can do it! What fools we’ve been! Oh, if I ever get out of this I’ll steer clear of these deals in the future!” It was his stock resolution, which had never borne fruit.

The door opened slightly, and the noiseless Rawlins timidly announced the arrival of Reed and Harris.

“Show them in at once!” cried Ketchim, jumping up and hastily passing his hands over his hair and face. Then, advancing with a wan smile, he courteously greeted the callers.

“Well, fellows,” he began, waving them to seats, “it looks a little bad for Molino, doesn’t it? I’ve just been reading your report––although of course you told me over the ’phone yesterday that there was no hope. But,” he continued gravely, and his face grew serious, “I’m glad, very glad, of one thing, and that is that there are men in the world to-day who are above temptation.”

“Which means––?” queried Harris.

“Why,” continued Ketchim, smiling pallidly, “the little joker that James inserted in the contract, about your getting fifty thousand in the event of a favorable report. I told him it didn’t look well––but he said it would test you. He would be funny, though, no matter how serious the business. But you showed that you were men.”

Harris snickered; but Reed turned the conversation at once. “We have been studying how we could help you pull the thing out of the fire. Suppose you give us,” he suggested, “a little of Molino’s history. Then perhaps something may occur to us.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” replied Ketchim gloomily. “The mines were located by a man named Lakes, at one time acting-Consul at Cartagena. He is half Colombian, I believe. He came up to New York and interested Bryan, Westler, and some others, and they asked us to act as fiscal agents.”

“But you never had title to the property,” said Reed.

“Certainly we have the title! Why do you say that?”

“Because, on our way down the Magdalena river we made the acquaintance of a certain Captain Pinal, of the Colombian army. When he learned that we were mining men he told us he had a string of rich properties that he would like to sell. I inquired their location, and he said they lay along the Boque river. And I learned that he had clear title to the property, too––Molino’s mines. Now you have sold some three or four 36 hundred thousand dollars’ worth of stock on alleged mines to which you never had even the shadow of a claim!”

“But––” murmured Ketchim weakly, “we thought we had. We acted in good faith––we took Mr. Lakes’s word––and we showed our confidence and sincerity by purchasing machinery to operate––”

“Oh, the machinery went down there, all right!” ejaculated Harris with a laugh. “I judge it was designed to manufacture barrel staves, rather than to extract gold! Lakes had it shipped to Cartagena; rented part of an old woman’s house; dumped the machinery in there; and now she’s wild. Can’t get her pay from you for storing the machinery; and can’t sell the stuff, nor move it. So there she sits, under some six or eight tons of iron junk, waiting for the Lord to perform a miracle!”

Ketchim smiled feebly. “It’s too bad!” he murmured. “But Molino has no funds––”

“You are still selling stock, aren’t you?” demanded Reed.

“Oh, no!” quickly returned Ketchim. “We would not sell any more stock until we received your report––and not then, unless the report were favorable. That would not have been right!”

Reed eyed him narrowly. But the image of truth sat enthroned upon Ketchim’s sharp features.

“It is unfortunate, boys,” the promoter continued dejectedly. “But I care nothing for my own losses; it’s the poor stockholders I am thinking about. I would do anything to relieve them. I’ve prayed to be led to do right. What would you suggest?”

“I suggest,” blurted out Harris, “that, having already relieved them considerably, you’ll soon be wearing a striped suit!”

The last trace of color faded from Ketchim’s face, but the sickly smile remained. “I’d wear it, willingly, if by so doing I could help these poor people,” he mournfully replied.

“Well,” pursued Harris, “it’ll help some when they learn that you’re in one.”

“Boys,” said Ketchim suddenly, quite disregarding the insinuation, “to-morrow is Sunday, and I want you both out to dinner with me, and we will talk this all over. Then in the afternoon I want you to come over and see my little Sunday school. Fellows,” he continued gravely, “I’ve prayed for you and for your success every day since you left. And my faith in my Saviour is too great to be shattered now by your adverse report. He certainly will show us a way out; and I can trust him and wait.”

Reed and Harris looked at him and then at each other with 37 puzzled expressions on their faces. The man continued earnestly:

“Colombia is a rich and undeveloped country, you have said. There must be other mineral properties available there. Did you see none on your travels? Or could we not organize an exploration party to search for mines?”

“Who’d furnish the wherewithal?” asked Harris bluntly.

“Oh, that could be arranged.”

“Will your sheep stand for further shearing?” queried the grinning Harris.

“Fellows,” said Ketchim, brightening and drawing his chair closer, “you’ve got something––I know it! You’ve got something to suggest that will save the Molino stockholders!”

“But not yourself, eh?” taunted Harris.

“I shall sacrifice myself,” answered Ketchim deprecatingly. His manner had now become animated, and he leaned expectantly toward them.

Reed and Harris again looked questioningly at each other. “I guess we might as well,” said Reed in a low voice. “It is bound to come out, anyway.”

“Sure,” returned Harris; “drive ahead.”

“Mr. Ketchim,” began Reed, turning to the eager, fidgeting man, “when I came to New York a year ago, looking for a business opening, my friend and former classmate in the University, Mr. Cass, put me in touch with you. At that time you were booming the Molino company hard, and, I have no doubt, thought you really had something down in Colombia. But when you offered to lease me a portion of your properties there, I laughed at you. And, in the course of time, I succeeded in convincing you that you knew nothing whatsoever about the properties on which you were selling so much stock. Then, after months of parley, from an offer to permit me to go down to Colombia at my own expense to examine Molino’s mines, to ascertain whether or not I wished to operate a part of them on a royalty basis, you adopted my own view, namely, that the time had come for you to know whether the company possessed anything of value or not. And so you sent my associate, Mr. Harris, and myself down there to examine and report on Molino’s so-called mines. And you gave us each a block of stock as part compensation. We found the mines barren. And now you have got to face a body of stockholders from whom you have lured thousands of dollars by your misrepresentations. From talks with your salesmen, I am convinced that this body of stockholders is made up chiefly of widows and indigent clergymen.”

“Which of my salesmen told you that?” interrupted Ketchim heatedly.

“Let us waive that,” replied Reed calmly. “The fact is, you are in a hard way just at present, is it not so?”

“Fellows,” said Ketchim, with an air of penitent humility, “the officers and stockholders of the Molino Company have been grossly deceived and unfortunately––”

“All right,” interrupted Reed, “we’ll pass that. But Harris and I have played square with you. And we are going to continue to do so, and to offer you a possible opportunity to do something for your poor stockholders, and incidentally for yourself and us. The fact is, we do know of another property down there, but we haven’t the title––”

“That makes no difference!” interrupted Ketchim. “I mean, it can be acquired––” striving to restrain his eagerness.

“That’s just the question,” replied Reed. “The title is at present vested in a young Colombian girl, who, unfortunately, is lost. This girl came up to the States with us––”

“Ha!” exclaimed Ketchim, unable longer to hold himself. “Then you broke your contract, for that stipulated that whatever you might acquire there should belong to me! I engaged your services, remember!”

“I believe,” put in Harris dryly, “we were employed by the Molino company.”

“But my mother advanced the funds to send you down there!” cried Ketchim.

“How about the poor stockholders?” queried Harris, with an insinuating grin.

“I’m speaking for the stockholders, of course,” said Ketchim, subsiding. “But, proceed, please.”

“There is no likelihood that this poor girl will ever be heard of again,” continued Reed. “Nor is it likely that the title papers, which she has with her, will be of any use to those into whose hands she has fallen. Her old foster-father held the title to this mine, but transferred it to the girl, stipulating that she and I should divide a large interest in the stock of a company formed to develop and operate it. For my share, I agreed to bring the young girl to the States and place her in a school, at my own expense.” He went on to relate the manner in which Carmen had been lost, and then continued: “Of course, the title to this mine is registered in Cartagena, and in the girl’s name, as the old man gave me power to have that change made. But, now that she is gone, the property naturally reverts to him.”

“We will relocate it!” declared Ketchim impatiently.

“No, that wouldn’t be right to the old man,” returned Reed. “But, it might be that the property could now be secured from him. He is old and penniless, and without any further interest 39 in life. It is a bare chance, but we might prevail upon him to join us in the formation of a company to take over his mine, La Libertad.”

“Is that the name of it?” asked Ketchim, reaching for a writing pad. “Spell it for me, please. And the name of the old man.”

Reed complied, and then continued: “Now, Mr. Ketchim, we are living strictly up to the letter of our contract by giving you this information. It would require not less than one hundred thousand dollars, cash in hand, to acquire that mine, develop it, make trails, and erect a stamp-mill. Mr. Harris and I are in no condition financially to advance or secure such an amount.”

“It is barely possible,” mused Harris, “that my father and Uncle John could do something.”

“We don’t have to call upon them!” cried Ketchim. “Your interest, Mr. Reed, in this mine already belongs to Molino, as you were acting under contract with us––”

“I have covered that point, Mr. Ketchim,” replied Reed evenly. “But the time has come for us all to put our shoulders to the wheel, act fairly with one another, help the Molino stockholders, and at the same time make good ourselves. Mr. Harris and I have barely entered upon our business careers, and we have come to New York to establish ourselves. This may afford the opportunity. We know where this mine is––we know the old man, and may be able to influence him. To forestall possible complications, we should begin negotiations with him at once. But––remember––everything must be done in the name of the company, not in your own name. And Mr. Harris and I must personally negotiate with the old man, and receive a very liberal compensation for our work.”

“Certainly!” cried the excited Ketchim. “Goodness, fellows! why didn’t you tell me this yesterday over the ’phone, and save me a night of torment? But I forgive you. Gracious! Rawlins,” he said, addressing that individual, who had entered in response to the buzzer, “’phone Cass to come right over. And tell Miss Honeywell to give you ten dollars for our lunch, and charge it to Molino. It’s company business. By Jove, fellows! this is a happy day for me. Since the old man gave you a share in the mine, Molino has property, after all!”

“Has it to get,” amended Harris dubiously.

“Oh, we’ll get it!” cried Ketchim, rubbing his hands gleefully. “But now while waiting for Cass, tell me more about your trip. It is wonderful! And so romantic!”

In the midst of the ensuing recital, Cass was announced; and Ketchim, after detailing to him the previous conversation, 40 launched into the project which had been developing in his own mind while Reed had been describing his experiences in the South.

“What we want is another organization, fellows,” he said in conclusion, “to take over the tottering Molino; purchase its assets with stock; give Molino stockholders an opportunity to get in on the ground floor, and so on. We’ll let Molino die in the arms of a new company, eh?”

“But one with a somewhat wider scope,” suggested Cass, with an air of importance. “A sort of general development company, to secure La Libertad, if possible; prospect for other mineral properties; and develop the resources of the country.”

“Just so,” assented Ketchim, with increasing enthusiasm. “A company to go in for coffee, cotton––you say you saw wild cotton, didn’t you, fellows? Great! And cocoanuts, timber, cattle––in fact, we’ll get concessions from the Colombian Government, and we’ll––”

“Just rip things wide open, eh?” finished Harris.

“That’s it!” cried Ketchim radiantly. “Uncle Ted has influence at Washington, with the Pan American Union, and so on––why, we can get anything we want! Ames and the bank will both cool down––by Jove, this is great!”

“But where’s the cold and vulgar cash coming from to oil the wheels?” put in the practical Harris.

“Oh, I can sell the stock,” replied Ketchim. “Then, too, there’s the Molino stockholders; why, I’ll bet there’s hardly one that wouldn’t be able to scrape up a few dollars more for the new company! By the way, what’ll we call it? Give us a name, somebody.”

“I’d call it the Salvation Company,” drawled Harris, “as it is likely to delay your trip to Sing Sing.”

A general laugh, in which Ketchim joined heartily, followed the remark.

“I suggest we call it the SimitÍ Development Company,” said Cass, after a moment’s dignified reflection.

“Great!” cried Ketchim. “It has a prosperous ring! And now its capitalization? We must make it big!”

“Hem!” returned Cass. “If these gentlemen can acquire that mine, I think I would capitalize for, say, about three millions.” He went to the desk and made some calculations. “I assume,” he continued somewhat pompously after a few moments’ figuring, “that you wish to retain me, and that I am to take my compensation in stock?”

Ketchim quickly assented. He knew that Cass had correctly concluded that in no other way was he likely to be reimbursed. And, at best, it was only a hazard, a wild gamble. In fact, it 41 was a last desperate chance. Moreover, stock was always available; while cash was a rare commodity.

“Suppose, then,” continued the sapient young lawyer, “that we capitalize for three millions; set aside one million, five hundred and one thousand as treasury stock, to be sold to raise money for development purposes; transfer to the Ketchim Realty Company one million, as compensation for acting as fiscal agents of the new company; transfer to these two gentlemen, as part compensation for past and future services, the sum of four hundred thousand in stock; give to the stockholders of the Molino Company the sum of fifty-nine thousand in stock for all the assets, machinery, good will, et cetera, of that company; and to me, for services to be rendered, forty thousand dollars’ worth of the stock. All of us shall agree not to sell any of our personal holdings of stock until the company shall be placed upon a dividend-paying basis. And Mr. Reed, or Mr. Harris, or both, will return to Colombia immediately to relocate the mine, and prepare for its development, while the Ketchim Realty Company at once endeavor to sell the treasury stock.”

Having delivered himself of this comprehensive plan, Cass settled back in his chair and awaited remarks.

“Well,” observed Ketchim at length, “that’s all right––only, I think we should be allowed to sell our personal stock if we wish. Of course,” with a deprecating wave of his hand, “there isn’t the slightest likelihood of our ever wanting to do that––with a mine such as you have described, fellows. But––why hedge us about?”

“Not one dollar’s worth of your stock shall you be permitted to sell!” cried Harris, bringing his fist down upon the desk.

“I suggest that we leave that for the Directors to decide later,” offered Cass, anxious to avoid discord. He was young, scarcely out of the twenties, just married, just admitted to the bar, and eager to get a toe-hold in the world of business. “And now,” he concluded, “if agreeable to you, I will put this through at once, organize the company, and get the charter. You gentlemen will return to Colombia as soon as Mr. Ketchim can provide the necessary funds.”

“Mr. Harris and I have formed an engineering partnership,” said Reed. “As such, we will handle the affairs of the new company in Colombia. Mr. Harris will proceed to that country, while I go to California to open a copper mine which we have taken over there. In time I will relieve Mr. Harris in the South. Now, Mr. Ketchim, what can you do?”

“I’ll send Houghton and Nezlett out on the road to-morrow. Rawlins has just told me of one prospect, a bully one! We don’t need to wait for the papers from Albany before going 42 ahead. But we find it costs about forty-eight cents to sell a dollar’s worth of stock, and so some time will be needed to raise enough to send Mr. Harris back to Colombia––unless,” he added, eying Harris furtively, “he will advance us the amount of his own expenses––”

“Which he will not!” retorted Harris warmly. “I haven’t it, anyway. Nor has Reed. We’re both broke.”

“There’s a revolution on down there now,” said Reed, “and we’d better go easy for a while. Besides, Harris needs time to study the language. But, are we all agreed on the terms? Salary for Harris while in Colombia to be settled later, of course.”

“It’s all satisfactory, I think,” said Ketchim, smiling happily. “The details can be worked out anon––Molino stockholders’ meeting, and so on.”

“Then,” said Reed, rising, “we will consider the new company launched, to take over the defunct Molino and to operate on a comprehensive scale in Colombia, beginning with the development of La Libertad, if we can secure it.”

At that moment Rawlins opened the door and peered in. “A gentleman to see Mr. Reed,” he announced softly; “a priest, I believe.”

Harris sprang to his feet. The door swung open, and Father Waite entered with Carmen.

With a glad cry the girl dropped her bundle and bounded into the arms of the astonished Harris. Reed grasped the priest’s hand, and begged him to speak. Ketchim and the young lawyer looked on in perplexity.

“I was unable to find your name in the city directory, Mr. Reed,” explained the priest, his face beaming with happiness. “But at police headquarters I found that you had made inquiries, and that detectives were searching for the girl. I learned that you were living with your wife’s sister, and that you had no business address, having just come up from South America. So I telephoned to your sister-in-law, and your wife informed me that you had an appointment this morning at this office. I therefore came directly here with the girl, who, as you see, is safe and sound, but with an additional interesting experience or two to add to the large fund she already possessed.” He looked down at Carmen and smiled. “And now,” he concluded, laughing, as he prepared to depart, “I will not ask for a receipt for the child, as I see I have several witnesses to the fact that I have delivered her to the proper custodian.” He bowed and went to the door.

“Wait!” cried Reed, seizing him by the hand. “We want to thank you! We want to know you––”

“I will give you my card,” replied the priest. “And I would be very happy, indeed, if some time again I might be permitted to see and talk with the little girl.” He handed his card to Reed; then nodded and smiled at Carmen and went out.

“By Jove!” sputtered Harris, pushing the girl aside and making after him. But he was too late. The priest had already caught a descending elevator, and disappeared. Harris returned to the bewildered group. “I guess that knocks the SimitÍ Company sky-high,” he exclaimed, “for here is the sole owner of La Libertad!”

Ketchim collapsed into a chair, while Reed, saying that he would keep his dinner engagement with Ketchim on the following day, picked up Carmen’s precious bundle and, taking her hand, left the room. “I am going home,” he called back to Harris; “and you be sure to come up to the house to-night. We’ll have to readjust our plans now.”