LITMIR.BIZ

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is it?”

      “He gives the name of Mr. Julius P. Hersheimmer.”

      “Hersheimmer,” repeated Kramenin thoughtfully. “I have heard that name before.”

      “His father was one of the steel kings of America,” explained the secretary, whose business it was to know everything. “This young man must be a millionaire several times over.”

      The other’s eyes narrowed appreciatively.

      “You had better go down and see him, Ivan. Find out what he wants.”

      The secretary obeyed, closing the door noiselessly behind him. In a few minutes he returned.

      “He declines to state his business—says it is entirely private and personal, and that he must see you.”

      “A millionaire several times over,” murmured Kramenin. “Bring him up, my dear Ivan.”

      The secretary left the room once more, and returned escorting Julius.

      “Monsieur Kramenin?” said the latter abruptly.

      The Russian, studying him attentively with his pale venomous eyes, bowed.

      “Pleased to meet you,” said the American. “I’ve got some very important business I’d like to talk over with you, if I can see you alone.” He looked pointedly at the other.

      “My secretary, Monsieur Grieber, from whom I have no secrets.”

      “That may be so—but I have,” said Julius dryly. “So I’d be obliged if you’d tell him to scoot.”

      “Ivan,” said the Russian softly, “perhaps you would not mind retiring into the next room——”

      “The next room won’t do,” interrupted Julius. “I know these ducal suites—and I want this one plumb empty except for you and me. Send him round to a store to buy a penn’orth of peanuts.”

      Though not particularly enjoying the American’s free and easy manner of speech, Kramenin was devoured by curiosity. “Will your business take long to state?”

      “Might be an all night job if you caught on.”

      “Very good, Ivan. I shall not require you again this evening. Go to the theatre—take a night off.”

      “Thank you, your excellency.”

      The secretary bowed and departed.

      Julius stood at the door watching his retreat. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, he closed it, and came back to his position in the centre of the room.

      “Now, Mr. Hersheimmer, perhaps you will be so kind as to come to the point?”

      “I guess that won’t take a minute,” drawled Julius. Then, with an abrupt change of manner: “Hands up—or I shoot!”

      For a moment Kramenin stared blindly into the big automatic, then, with almost comical haste, he flung up his hands above his head. In that instant Julius had taken his measure. The man he had to deal with was an abject physical coward—the rest would be easy.

      “This is an outrage,” cried the Russian in a high hysterical voice. “An outrage! Do you mean to kill me?”

      “Not if you keep your voice down. Don’t go edging sideways towards that bell. That’s better.”

      “What do you want? Do nothing rashly. Remember my life is of the utmost value to my country. I may have been maligned——”

      “I reckon,” said Julius, “that the man who let daylight into you would be doing humanity a good turn. But you needn’t worry any. I’m not proposing to kill you this trip—that is, if you’re reasonable.”

      The Russian quailed before the stern menace in the other’s eyes. He passed his tongue over his dry lips.

      “What do you want? Money?”

      “No. I want Jane Finn.”

      “Jane Finn? I—never heard of her!”

      “You’re a darned liar! You know perfectly who I mean.”

      “I tell you I’ve never heard of the girl.”

      “And I tell you,” retorted Julius, “that Little Willie here is just hopping mad to go off!”

      The Russian wilted visibly.

      “You wouldn’t dare——”

      “Oh, yes, I would, son!”

      Kramenin must have recognized something in the voice that carried conviction, for he said sullenly: “Well? Granted I do know who you mean—what of it?”

      “You will tell me now—right here—where she is to be found.”

      Kramenin shook his head.

      “I daren’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “I daren’t. You ask an impossibility.”

      “Afraid, eh? Of whom? Mr. Brown? Ah, that tickles you up! There is such a person, then? I doubted it. And the mere mention of him scares you stiff!”

      “I have seen him,” said the Russian slowly. “Spoken to him face to face. I did not know it until afterwards. He was one of a crowd. I should not know him again. Who is he really? I do not know. But I know this—he is a man to fear.”

      “He’ll never know,” said Julius.

      “He knows everything—and his vengeance is swift. Even I—Kramenin!—would not be exempt!”

      “Then you won’t do as I ask you?”

      “You ask an impossibility.”

      “Sure that’s a pity for you,” said Julius cheerfully. “But the world in general will benefit.” He raised the revolver.

      “Stop,” shrieked the Russian. “You cannot mean to shoot me?”

      “Of course I do. I’ve always heard you Revolutionists held life cheap, but it seems there’s a difference when it’s your own life in question. I gave you just one chance of saving your dirty skin, and that you wouldn’t take!”

      “They would kill me!”

      “Well,” said Julius pleasantly, “it’s up to you. But I’ll just say this. Little Willie here is a dead cert, and if I was you I’d take a sporting chance with Mr. Brown!”

      “You will hang if you shoot me,” muttered the Russian irresolutely.

      “No, stranger, that’s where you’re wrong. You forget the dollars. A big crowd of solicitors will get busy, and they’ll get some high-brow doctors on the job, and the end of it all will be that they’ll say my brain was unhinged. I shall spend a few months in a quiet sanatorium, my mental health will improve, the doctors will declare me sane again, and all will end happily for little Julius. I guess I can bear a few months’ retirement in order to rid the world of you, but don’t you kid yourself I’ll hang for it!”

      The Russian believed him. Corrupt himself, he believed implicitly in the power of money. He had read of American murder trials running much on the lines indicated by Julius. He had bought and sold justice himself. This virile young American, with the significant drawling voice, had the whip hand of him.

      “I’m going to count five,” continued Julius, “and I guess, if you let me get past four, you needn’t worry any about Mr. Brown. Maybe he’ll send some flowers to the funeral, but YOU won’t smell them! Are you ready? I’ll begin. One—two three—four——”

      The Russian interrupted with a shriek:

      “Do not shoot. I will do all you wish.”

      Julius lowered the revolver.

      “I thought

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