It was a boy, who thrust a letter into my hand.

"Yer name Wilton?" he inquired, still holding on to the envelope.

"Yes."

"That's yourn, then." And he was prepared to make a bolt.

"Hold on," I said. "Maybe there's an answer."

"No, there ain't. The bloke as gave it to me said there weren't."

"Well, here's something I want you to deliver," said I, taking up my
note to Detective Coogan. "Do you know where the City Hall is?"

"Does I know--what are yer givin' us?" said the boy with infinite scorn
in his voice.

"A quarter," I returned with a laugh, tossing him the coin. "Wait a
minute."

"Yer ain't bad stuff," said the boy with a grin. I tore open the
envelope and read on the sheet that came from it:

"Sell everything you bought--never mind the price. Other orders off. D.
K."

I gasped with amazement. Had Doddridge Knapp gone mad? To sell twelve
thousand five hundred shares of Omega was sure to smash the market, and