The look of angry perplexity
deepened on his face.
"Where did you get this?"
I detailed the circumstances.
The anger that flashed in his eyes was more eloquent than the outbreak
of curses I expected to hear.
"Um!" he said at last with a grim smile. "It's lucky, after all, that
you had something besides cotton in that skull of yours, Wilton."
"A fool might have been caught by it," I said modestly.
"There looks to be trouble ahead," he said, "There's a rascally gang in
the market these days." And the King of the Street sighed over the
dishonesty that had corrupted the stock gamblers' trade. I smiled
inwardly, but signified my agreement with my employer.
"Well, who wrote them?" he asked almost fiercely. "They seem to come
from the same hand."
"Maybe you'd better ask that fellow who had his eye at your keyhole
when I left the office this noon."
"Who was that?" The Wolf gave a startled look. "Why didn't you tell
me?"
"He was a well-made, quick, lithe fellow, with an eye that reminded me
of a snake. I gave chase to him, but couldn't overhaul him. He squirmed
away in the crowd, I guess."
The last part of my tale was unheard. At the description of the snake-
eyed man, Doddridge Knapp sank back in his chair, the flash of anger
died out of his eyes, and his mind was far away.
Was it terror, or anxiety, or wonder, that swept in shadow across his
face? The mask that never gave up a thought or purpose before the
changing fortunes of the market was not likely to fail its owner here.
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