Briggs went down on his hands and knees and began to pick up the debris.

One of the bouquets had rolled to the colonel’s feet, and he stooped with some difficulty, recovered it, and laid it across his knees.  He gazed past Farr with a frown—­with a significant, dismissing jerk of his head.  The young man turned in time to see the capitalist’s handsome secretary.  The amazing riot in the sanctuary of her employer had brought her from behind the screen.  Uncertainty and alarm were in her eyes and excitement had flushed her cheeks.  Against the background of the gorgeous screen she seemed a veritable apparition of loveliness, and while Farr stared, frankly admiring her, recognizing her, exchanging that startled recognition with her, she disappeared.

“How do you dare to come into my private office in this fashion?”

“I have waited in that anteroom every day for ten days, trying to get an audience.  The door was open just now and I came in.”

“It’s your own fault if you haven’t seen me.  I see men who have business with me and who send in an explanation of that business.”

“So I have been told by that man,” stated Farr, pointing to Briggs, who was groping about on the carpet.  “But my business with you couldn’t be discussed through a third party.”

“Now that you’re in here, what is that business?”

“I’ll tell you first what it is not, so that there won’t be any misunderstanding in your mind about me.  I am not here to borrow money, beg money, ask for work, ask for a personal favor of any kind, solicit a political job, nor have I anything to sell to you or to give to you.  So, you see, my business is different.”

With a quick motion he brought out a parcel which he had held concealed in the broad-brimmed hat.

Briggs straightened up on his knees and remained thus, seemingly paralyzed, staring at the parcel.

The capitalist sank back in his chair, his face growing greenish white.

“Don’t you throw that bomb!” he gasped.  In his panic he was not able to deduce any other explanation for the presence of this stranger who had so strenuously disclaimed all reasonable motives for his visit.  He quailed before this man who seemed to be a dangerous crank—­for Farr’s attire was out of the ordinary and his eyes were flashing and his poise was that of a man sure of himself.

“What do you think I have here in this package?”

“Dynamite!” mumbled the magnate.

“It’s worse.”

Colonel Dodd rolled his head to and fro on the back of his chair, shutting his eyes in vain attempt to find somebody to whom to appeal for help.  He started a furtive hand in the direction of the battery of buttons.

“Keep your hands in your lap,” commanded Farr.  “I say that what I have here in this package is worse than dynamite.”  He tore the paper and disclosed a half-dozen faucets that were still dripping with slime.  “You know now what I mean, Colonel Dodd.  This is the stuff your water company is pumping through the pipes in this state.”