“Don’t you understand,” demanded Hendricks blankly, “how inconceivable it is that you should come on a mission like this without knowing its exact nature?”

The other nodded.  “Burton didn’t know that you were out of town.  When last night, quite late, he learned of this matter he sent me to find you.  There was no time for discussion or explanation.”

“Wait until I pack my bag.”  The Honorable Hendricks, whose dignity on the bench would so honor the judicial ermine, rushed wildly into the house while Hamilton Burton’s envoy stood outside contemplatively kicking about among the fallen leaves.

With the flaming of that morning’s headlines announcing J.J.  Malone’s illness a spirit of nervousness began stalking in the Street.  Of this restlessness Hamilton Burton was duly apprised and while he scornfully laughed at blind luck he acknowledged the power of his Star, and gave thanks to his own unnamed gods.

His eye was brilliantly clear and his step resilient, but Paul, whose delicate nature possessed a quality approaching the clairvoyant, divined that his great brother was exalted by some prospect of portentous moment, and that it might mean triumph—­or reverse.  Timidly the younger questioned the elder.

That afternoon while Hamilton was outlining future and audacious strokes of finance Paul was with him.  For hours they sat together, the younger man at the piano and the older listening, being soothed and softened by the magic touch upon the keys.

This was their custom when momentous affairs were brewing.  At last Hamilton interrupted.  “Paul,” he questioned slowly, “can’t you give me something that has the crashing of bugles in it; something like a hymn before action?” Abruptly his voice mounted and he threw back his head.  “By God, little brother, I want the sort of music that goes before the charge of an irresistible phalanx!”

The musician wheeled on the piano bench and his fingers left the keys.  He rose impulsively and came over to where Hamilton stood with an unquenchable light blazing in the eyes.  The dreamer laid a hand on each of the achiever’s strong shoulders and gazed long and searchingly into the confident face.  Hamilton read a fear in that gaze and affectionately smiled back his reassurance.

“What is it, little brother?” he asked.

“Hamilton,” began the other in an awkward, diffident fashion, “you are planning something a little vaster than usual.  I am frightened.  Sometimes the end of empire is—­St. Helena.”

The financier laughed.

“It is not written that I can fail, Paul.  It’s not in my horoscope.  You are right.  I am planning something broader than I have done before.”  He paused only to add in a vibrant voice:  “I told you that the day would come when above me there would be no man.  That day will be tomorrow.”

“Is there no chance of defeat?”

“I admit none.  To me the influx of gold, and that attendant power which is its only worth, have become a tidal wave.  Nothing can check it.”