gaze of the watchers the glasses fumed and bubbled with a volatile
potion. A glass mixing rod tinkled in the thin crystal shells, and
the man of mystery deftly thrust a clump of foliage into each. A
well known fragrance exhaled upon the tobacco-thickened air.

"Shades of the Grail!" cried Bleak. "Mint julep!"

The visitor bowed and pushed the glasses forward. "With the
compliments of the Corporation," he said.

The city editor sprang to his feet. Sagely cynical, he suspected a
ruse.

"It's a plant!" he exclaimed. "Don't touch it! It's a trick on the
part of the Department of Justice, trying to get us into trouble."

Bleak gazed angrily at the stranger. If this was indeed a federal
stratagem, what an intolerably cruel one! In front of him the
glasses sparkled alluringly: a delicate mist gathered on their
ice-chilled curves: a pungent sweetness wavered in his nostrils.

"See here!" he blurted with shrill excitement. "Are you a damned
government agent? If so, take your poison and get out."

The tall stranger in his impressive uniform stood erect and
unabashed. With affectionate care he gave the tumblers a final
musical stir.

"O ye of little faith!" he said calmly. The sadness of the
misunderstood idealist grieved his features. "Have you forgotten