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"They little know, they little know...."

Presently he pulled himself together and pressed the button with that same right hand, then squared his shoulders, once more dropping both hands at his side. There was a short interval of waiting, during which he kept repeating to himself, as though conning some essential lesson:

"Leslie Wilkinson—Leslie Wilkinson, that's the man I want to see."

Suddenly a heavy door was swung open inward and a butler stood before him, bowing.

"Leslie Wilkinson," demanded Ilingsworth somewhat explosively. There was no prefix to the name—Ilingsworth was not considering the conventionalities. He had come fresh from the confidential reports of Wall Street detectives. Those two words had seared themselves into his brain.

The butler looked surprised, shocked, that is, so far as his rigid training would permit.

"Leslie Wilkinson," he repeated doubtfully, as though already hypnotised into the other's trend of thought.

"Leslie Wilkinson," said Ilingsworth, "and right away."