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Baggin shrank back. "You—you know that?" he gasped.

"I know many things," was the quiet reply, "but not all."

The American looked at him doubtfully. The man seemed limpid. Was he, in truth, as Grayson had once said, as deep as the bottomless pit? Grayson, he knew, had favoured him.

"You have no money," he objected, finally.

"I have something better."

"What?" In Baggin's mouth the question was an insult.

"Genius!" returned the young man simply.

He disregarded Baggin's scornful ejaculation, and continued impersonally, as if reading aloud from a book.

"Genius, my friend! Genius is as high above mere money as the stars wheeling in their celestial courses are above the earth. It is human electricity—the motive power of the world. With my power, the spark I feel within me here"—he touched his white shirt-front—"I could wipe out kingdoms and principalities, change the map of Europe more drastically than Napoleon—and bloodlessly! Think of it a moment, my prosaic, financial friend! I who sit here in this room, with you and a dead man, can do these things! Just one little pawn in the game is missing. Money. A few million pounds for running expenses and for salaries to my—er—myrmidons! That item, Mr. Baggin, I expect to be supplied by you."