Mr. Foley drew a key from his pocket and led the way across the room
towards a closed door.

"I want to make sure that we are not disturbed. I am going to take you
through to my study, if I may."

They passed into a small inner room, plainly but comfortably furnished.

"My own den," Mr. Foley explained, closing the door behind him with an
air of relief. "Will you smoke, Mr. Maraton, or drink anything?"

"Neither, thank you," Maraton answered. "I am here to listen. I am
curious to hear what there is that you can have to say to me."



CHAPTER III

Mr. Foley pointed to an easy-chair. Maraton, however, did not at once
respond to his gesture of invitation. He was standing, tense and
silent, with head upraised, listening. From the street outside came a
strange, rumbling sound.

"You permit?" he asked, stepping to the window and drawing the curtain a
few inches on one side. "There is something familiar about that sound.
I heard it last in Chicago."

Mr. Foley rose slowly from the easy-chair into which he had thrown
himself, and stood by his visitor's side. Outside, the pavements were