Johnny Gamble controlled himself with an effort.

“They’re my bonds,” he persisted with his thoughts, however, more on Constance than on business.  “He’ll sign them or I’ll smash him.”

Gresham, speaking above his panic of physical cowardice with a tremulous effort, interpolated himself into the argument.

“I’ll sign,” he promised with stiff lips, and tried to write his name on the cover of a magazine.  The scrawl was so undecipherable that he rose from the table and walked up and down the room in acute distress, holding his right hand at the wrist and limbering it.  “If I sign,” he presently bargained as he came to the table, “I must be promised freedom from the distaste of a personal encounter.”

Loring hastily complied, and Johnny, after having been prodded into a recognition of the true situation, agreed with a disgusted snarl.

Gresham, with nerves much restored and a smile beginning to appear upon his now oily features, carefully assigned each bond, and then, secure in Johnny’s promise, which he accepted at the par value all men gave it, stood up and shook his finger warningly.

“A signature obtained under coercion is not worth the ink it took to scrawl it,” he triumphantly declared, having taken his cue from Loring.  “Any court in America will set aside this action.”

“I know it,” Johnny unexpectedly coincided.  “I’m going to give you a chance at it,” and grabbing his telephone he called up Central Police and asked for an officer to be sent to his rooms.

“Now, Loring, you disappear,” directed Johnny briskly as he gathered up the bonds.  “I may have to dismiss you as my lawyer, but as my friend you can hand these bonds to somebody who will lose them.”

“As your lawyer I’d have to call you a blooming idiot,” declared Loring, “but as your friend I don’t think Gresham will raise any question about the bonds.  They’re yours, Johnny; but, nevertheless, I’ll forget where they are by the time the police come.”

Gresham had been struggling with an intolerable lump in his throat.

“Gamble!” he abjectly pleaded, “I’ve signed the bonds.  I admit that they’re yours.  You’re not going to have me arrested?”

Johnny turned on him with the sort of implacable enmity which expresses itself in almost breathless quietness.

“I’m going to send you to the penitentiary for a thousand years,” he promised.

At the curb in front of his door he found a long gray torpedo touring car throbbing with impatience, and at the wheel sat a plump young lady in a vivid green bonnet and driving coat.  In the tonneau sat a more slender young lady all in gray, except for the brown of her eyes and the pink of her cheeks and the red of her lips.

Johnny’s Baltimore straw hat came off with a jerk.

“Out after the breakfast rolls?” he demanded as he shook hands with them quite gladly.

“No, indeed; hunting a job,” responded Polly.  “This machine and the services of its chauffeur and messenger girl are for rent to you only, for the day, at the price of a nice party when you get that million.  We have to be in on the excitement.”