"Tell me about him," snapped Gard. "Sit down."

Brencherly sat. "Well, he's the head of the lumber people. Rated at six
millions. Got one son, named Theodore; went to Yale. Wife was Mary
Theobald, of Cincinnati--"

Gard interrupted. "I don't want the 'who's who,' Brencherly, or I
wouldn't have sent for you. I want to know the worst about him. Cut
loose."

"Well, his deals haven't been square, you know. He's had two or three
nasty suits against him; he's got more enemies than you can shake a
stick at. His confidential lawyer is Twickenbaur, the biggest scoundrel
unhung. Of course nobody knows that; Twickenbaur's reputation is too
bad--Mahr goes to _your_ lawyers, apparently."

"There isn't any blackmail in any of _that_," the older man snarled.

"Oh!" cried the youth, his blue eyes lighting. "Oh, it's blackmail you
want! Well, the only thing that looks that way is a story that nobody
has been able to substantiate. We heard it as we hear lots of things
that don't get out; but there was a yarn that Mahr was a bigamist; that
his first wife was living when he married Miss Theobald. She died when
the boy was born, and in that case she was never his legal wife, and of
course now never can be. The other woman's dead, too, they say; but
who's to prove it? That would be a fine tale for the coin, if anyone had
the goods to show."

"I suppose the office looked that up when they got it, didn't they? Good