The little sweet-toned French clock that stood on the mantel above the fireplace in the library chimed the half hour after midnight as the Honorable Milton Waring replenished the decanter and pried the cap from a fresh bottle of plain soda.

“Even if all the servants have been dismissed for the night, that is no reason why we can’t have another little drink, gentlemen. J. C., old man, say ‘when.’ Help yourself to another cigar, Blatch.”

As a host few could outshine the Honorable Milton in geniality, and there was little room in any man’s system for pessimism in company with four glasses of the Honorable Milt’s special brand of Kentucky Bourbon. J. Cuthbert Nickleby’s manner was one of open enthusiasm. Elation possessed him. His laugh was frequent and boisterous. Any doubts he may have entertained at midnight that the deal was going through had been dispelled within the half hour during which the meeting had been in progress. Brazen as the whole thing was, its very boldness apparently had captured the imagination of Waring and Ferguson. Nickleby felt a huge satisfaction in his own perspicacity; he had not cultivated these two men during the past few months for nothing. He knew them and he was about to convert that knowledge into cash and bid them farewell.

It was a good time to be moving along. Nickleby had made money during the past year. His temporary control of the Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company had enabled him to manipulate to considerable personal advantage; but he was quite aware of the fact that his methods were liable to be questioned sooner or later, and the next annual meeting of the shareholders was not far away. Besides, the unexpected arrival of Harrington Rives on the scene and his very evident intention of getting on his feet by hanging on to Mr. Nickleby’s coat-tails compelled a change of plans and the seeking of pastures new. Friend Rives knew too much and was himself too well known to be a safe companion in their present location. Rives and he could work together to mutual advantage, beyond doubt; but it would have to be in some new territory where the limelight had never played upon either of them in the past.

Accordingly when Nickleby discovered that Rives had some valuable mining concessions in Mexico, it had seemed very desirable for them to become partners and try their fortunes in a country where wealth awaited a pair of up-to-date filibusters like them and where political disturbances held forth untold opportunities for their peculiar abilities. To carry out their plans they needed all the capital they could scrape together. Hence the present proposal to unload all the Nickleby interests as quickly as possible for as much ready cash as might be.

The logical victim was the Honorable Milton Waring. Already Nickleby felt that his cultivation of the honorable gentleman had proceeded far enough to justify some boldness. He had succeeded in getting the Honorable Milt pretty well entangled in speculative investments and under his thumb by way of certain personal loans, protected by personal notes. In addition, there was the little flyer in real-estate which the Honorable Milton and his satellite, Blatchford Ferguson, had put through with Nickleby’s assistance. That little transaction would cost the honorable gentleman his portfolio with the Government if it became known. So that, taking everything into consideration, Mr. Nickleby felt quite confident that he could persuade the Honorable Milton Waring and Blatchford Ferguson to fall in with the somewhat ambitious plans which President Nickleby had conceived for disposing of his stock in the Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company at a satisfactory figure.

These plans amounted practically to theft; but this was something which Nickleby would not admit, even to himself. He preferred to call it “high finance,” “clever dealing,” “sharp practice” perhaps. But he had no intention of overstepping the law. If, after he was safely away, trouble developed as a result of the situation which he left behind him, that would be the least of his worries. The “mismanagement” of his successors in the control of the loan company would be responsible, not J. Cuthbert Nickleby.

The old Abercrombie farm, outside the city limits, had been a happy discovery. The property really was a valuable one and before many years went by it was destined to rise in value rapidly as the city grew. The place had dropped into neglect of late and the old lady who had fallen heir to the estate was a non-resident. Rives had discovered that this spinster, Miss Patience Hollinsworth, was in her dotage and for a man of Rives’ ability the rest had been easy. He had secured an option on the farm at a ridiculous price. Nickleby thereupon had had it subdivided into blocks and streets and building lots, and the beautiful new residential suburb of “River Glen” had appeared in blue print.

At the moment these very blueprints, mounted on beaver-board, were propped in convenient position about the library. On the Honorable Milton’s desk reposed sundry legal documents pertaining to the transfer of the Abercrombie property and certain other papers awaiting signature.

“I’ve seen Fawkner, of Suburban Trolleys Ltd., and it will be a simple matter for them to extend their line as soon as you’re ready to put ‘River Glen’ on the market,” remarked Nickleby. “Properly advertised, gentlemen, that subdivision will net a clean half million. I’m getting quite excited about it myself and I only wish I was going to be on hand to handle it personally.”

“I’m sure you do,” commented Ferguson. “With things moving as they are at present, it ought to go, Milt.”

“It looks good to me,” was the Honorable Milton Waring’s ready response.

“The proposition is certainly an exceptional one,” went on Nickleby.

“Very exceptional,” grinned Ferguson, running his hand up along the bald streak on top of his head. “So much so, J. C., that you’ve got to convince us that this ‘control’ of the Interprovincial you are to hand over to us is bona fide beyond question. We’d be in a fine mess if we lost out at the annual meeting, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes, that is important, J. C.,” nodded Waring. “You might just go into that end of it a little more fully. Why not begin at the beginning and tell us exactly how you got yourself elected President and how you propose to cover up?”

And with an easy laugh, Mr. Nickleby did so. Because when one is talking to “friends” whom one has under thumb and who are about to shoulder heavy responsibilities one can afford to talk freely; because, also, whisky loosens the tongue and enables one to vizualize a flock of poultry out of a basket of eggs! Then, too, there is inspiration in nods of approval and expressions of admiration, and both Honorable Milton Waring and Mr. Blatchford Ferguson were prodigal of these as the recital progressed.

Certainly it was an amazing confession. With considerable gusto did J. Cuthbert Nickleby explain the various moves by which he had dethroned the Lawson interests and usurped control of the Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company. The quiet gathering together of proxies, the appointment of dummy directors, the “purchase” of others, the “personal loans” which silenced others still, the failure of “Old Nat” to produce his authority for voting the Bradford block of stock all of these factors Mr. Nickleby set forth with a lucidity and frankness which aimed to convince his two auditors that when they and their associates assumed “control” it would be absolute, with no possibility of failure in swinging the annual meeting to suit themselves.

“By heaven, Nickleby, you’re a wizard!” cried Ferguson at last, unable longer to restrain his enthusiasm. “You’ve got the situation tied up in a pretty knot and no mistake. Hasn’t he, Milt? Take it from me, J. C., if you’d been cruising the high seas in the days of Captain Kidd, you’d have given him a run for his money! Some buccaneer, believe me!” and he went off into a peal of laughter born of sheer admiration.

“Quit your kidding, Blatch,” grinned Mr. Nickleby modestly as he reached for the decanter, quite unconscious of the pun. “But I hope you’re now convinced that this proposition is feasible and quite in order.”

“I don’t know about that,” objected the Honorable Milton slowly. “It’s clear enough that you’ve got things in your own hands just now, J. C., and can shove through this deal O.K. But your whole control rests upon the fact that the Bradford stock is side-tracked. Supposing Nat Lawson locates that missing power-of-attorney? What then?”

“I give you my word that he can’t do it,” chuckled Nickleby.

“That’s all very well. But supposing he does? How do you know he can’t?”

“Because I do.” Nickleby set down his glass triumphantly. “I don’t mind letting you into a little secret, gentlemen. That power-of-attorney has been destroyed.”

“Are you sure?” gasped Ferguson.

“I ought to be. I burned it myself!”

“No! You’re stuffing us, J. C. You may be clever; but you’re not as clever as that! Say, will you swear to that?”

“Here’s a bible, Blatch. Make him swear to it and the deal’s on.” The Honorable Milton handed a small bible across the desk as he spoke. “If that’s the situation, I guess it’s safe to go ahead.”

“You son-of-a-gun!” cried Ferguson, when Nickleby had duly taken his oath. “I don’t mind admitting that when I first heard your proposition I thought it was impossible to get away with it. You buy a farm, turn it into a subdivision, hand it over to us, then we hand it back to you as collateral for a loan of $250,000, with which we purchase from you the subdivision and all your stock in the company, which gives us control of the transaction Phew! give me air!”

“You understand, Nickleby, that we’ve got to be mighty careful how this thing is handled,” said Waring gravely. “It’s taking chances.”

“‘Nothing venture, nothing win,’” quoted Nickleby. “But I’ll cover it up. Leave that to me.”

“Lawson has a lot of friends, remember. There’s Ben Wade, for instance

“You needn’t worry about him, Milt. He hasn’t been able to get together more than thirty per cent. of the votes.”

“And there’s Timothy Drexel He’s a director, isn’t he?”

“That old fool! Yes, he’s a director; but he’s putty! Hand him some taffy and you can pat him into any shape you like. You should have heard his speech when he nominated me for president last year,” and Nickleby laughed heartily at the recollection.

The Honorable Milton Waring got up and began to pace the room. It was evident that there were certain aspects of the deal which disturbed him.

“If my connection with this thing ever got out, Blatch,” he said, pausing in front of the lawyer, “it would mean the finish!”

“Oh, hang the political end of it, Milt!” exclaimed Ferguson impatiently. “Between us, J. C. and I will see that you are protected legally. And anyway, what’s the use of being in politics if you don’t get a share of the loaves and fishes while you’ve got the chance? All politicians are supposed by the public to be feathering their own nests, and you might as well feather yours when you’ve got to come under the accusation anyway. It’s all in the game. If you’ve got the sponduliks you can do anything these days. It’s every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost!”

“There’s a lot of truth in what you say, Blatch. Well, let’s get down to business and get it over with,” sighed the Honorable Milton Waring.

Abruptly he sat down at his desk and reached for the papers.