“Half a hundred, if you want them,” Slate replied confidently.  “When I first came over, Wingate, I can tell you I felt all at sea.  It seemed to me that the police had got this city in the hollow of their hands, and that there was no chance at all for the man who couldn’t rely on the law to do him justice.  I soon found out my mistake.  There’s nothing I could get done in New York or Chicago which I couldn’t get done here, and at a great deal less cost and trouble.  You thought I was joking when I told you at my office that I could find you a murderer.  I wasn’t.  I could find you half a dozen, if necessary.”

“We aren’t going quite as far as that,” he said.  “Have you anything on at all at the present moment?”

“Not a thing.”

“I want you altogether free,” Wingate went on.  “I’m talking business now because it’s necessary.  You’re going to earn money with me, Andrew, and incidentally you are going to help me break the man whom I think that you hate almost as much as I do.”

“You don’t mean Phipps—­Dreadnought Phipps?” Slate exclaimed, suddenly laying down his knife and fork.

“I do,” Wingate answered.  “We are up against each other once more, and, believe me, Slate, this is going to be the last time.”

There was a smouldering fire in Slate’s fine eyes.  Nevertheless, he seemed disturbed.

“You’re up against a big thing, Wingate,” he said.  “Peter Phipps has made good over here.  They say that he’s coining money in this new company of his.”

“I’m after his blood, all the same,” Wingate replied.  “We’ve had several tussles since—­”

Wingate hesitated.

“Since you nearly beat the breath out of his body,” Slate interrupted, with a little shiver.

“Yes, we’ve had several tussles since then,” Wingate repeated, “and we haven’t hurt each other much.  This time I think one of us is going under.  Phipps wants to join issue with me in the City.  I’m not so sure.  I’m out to break him properly this time, and I am not going to rush in until I know the ropes.”

Slate emptied a glass of wine and leaned forward.

“John,” he said, relapsing once more into the familiarity of their early college days, “you couldn’t have set me a job more to my heart than to have me help in brewing mischief for Peter Phipps.  I’m your man, body and soul—­you know that.  But you’ve been a good friend to me—­almost the only one I ever had—­and I’ve got to put this up to you.  Peter Phipps is as clever as the devil.  He is up to every trick in this world, and a few that he probably borrowed from Satan himself.  I’m not trying to put you off.  I only want to say this.  Go warily.  Don’t let him lure you on into risking too much on any one move.  Always remember that he has something up his sleeve.”

“That’s all right, Slate,” he said.  “I promise you I’ll think out every move on the board.  I shall risk nothing until I can see my way clear ahead.  Meanwhile, you can work on this.”