“Bah.  You can’t do that.  No one can save him,” he replied, with triumph and satisfaction mingled in his tone.

She looked at him thoughtfully.

“You seem pleased with the idea that he is guilty, Mr. Goldstein.”

“I am glad he is caught.  What is Jones to me?  An interloper!  A boy who gets money, buys stock, and then interferes with a business he knows nothing about.  You are a professional, Miss Stanton.  You know how we, who are in the game, have won our knowledge of it by long experience, by careful study, by keeping the thousand threads of the rope of success twisted tightly together.  Any fool could buy this business, but only an expert could run it successfully.  You know that.  So I am glad this interfering boy is wiped off the slate forever.”

“But he isn’t!” she protested.  “You still have this boy to reckon with, Goldstein.  When he is examined by the judge he will be set free, for all the evidence is in his favor and there is ample proof that he is not the man they are after.  And that reminds me.  There is a negative here that was made at the directors’ meeting in January, a year ago, which shows Mr. Jones taking control of the Continental.”

“I have never seen it,” he said, shaking his head.

“It is here, though, and I want a positive printed at once, and mounted on a reel, so it can be exhibited before the judge.  Have Alfred get it out of the vault.”

“Why should I do that?” he inquired, frowning.

“Because, if you refuse, Mr. Jones is quite likely to find another manager.  No other firm would pay you so much as you are getting here.  You know that.”

He grinned with delight at the thrust, then grew solemn.

“You are sure he will go free?”

“Positive,” returned Maud.  “He doesn’t really need that film, but it would be good policy—­excellent policy—­for you to produce it.”

“Alfred!” called the manager.  “Bring me the stock book.”

He ran his finger down the pages.

“January—­eh—­eh—­”

“January twenty-sixth,” she said.

“Here it is:  ‘Special of Annual Meeting, C.F.M.  Co.—­280 feet.—­No. 19,’ Get number nineteen out of the vault, Alfred.”

While the young man was gone he relapsed into thought.  Maud waited patiently.

“You see,” resumed the manager abruptly, “I am making more money for the Continental than I get paid for.  That is because I know how.  It is not good business to cut down the profits; therefore I should be paid a bigger salary.  Miss Stanton, you’re a friend of young Jones, who controls this company.  Yon might talk to him about me.”

“I will,” she said.

“You might say I know every trick of the trade.  Tell Jones how all the other film makers are crazy to get me.  But say how I refuse more money because I believe our directors will wake up to my value and raise my salary.  That sounds pretty good, eh?”