“Those Frisco steamboat men got together and started a rate war against the railroad; they hauled freight to Dawson by way of St. Michaels at a loss.  Of course Illis and his crowd had to meet competition, and it nearly broke ’em the first two seasons.  Gee, they were the mad ones!  Finally they fixed up an agreement—­had to or go bust—­and of course the Native Sons put it over our English cousins.  They agreed to restore the old rate, and each side promised to pay the other a royalty of ten dollars a ton on all the freight it hauled to Dawson and up-river points.  You can guess the result, can’t you?  The steamboat companies let Illis haul all the freight and sat back on their haunches and took their profit.  For every ton he hauled he slipped ’em ten round American dollars, stamped with the Goddess of Liberty.  Oh, it was soft!  When they had him fairly tied up they dry-docked their steamboats, to save wear and tear.  He paid ’em a thousand dollars a day for three years.  If that ain’t blackmail, it’s a first cousin to it by marriage.”

“Didn’t the Interstate Commerce Commission get wise?”

“Certainly not.  It looks wise, but it never gets wise.  Oh, believe me, Poultney Illis is hopping mad.  I s’pose he’s over here now to renew the arrangement for another three years on behalf of his stock-holders.  Let’s have a dram.”  Bulker sat back and stared as through a mist at his companion, enjoying the effect of his disclosure.

O’Neil was indeed impressed—­more deeply than his informant dreamed.  Out of the lips of a drunken man had come a hint which set his nerves to tingling.  He knew Illis well, he knew the caliber of the Englishman, and a plan was already leaping in his brain whereby he might save the S. R. & N.

It lacked an hour of midnight when O’Neil escaped from Bulker and reached his room.  Once inside, he seized the telephone and rang up hotel after hotel, inquiring for the English capitalist, but without result.  After a moment’s consideration he took his hat and gloves and went out.  The matter did not permit of delay.  Not only were his own needs imperative, but if Poultney Illis had come from London to confer with his rivals there was little time to spare.

Remembering the Englishman’s habits, O’Neil turned up the Avenue to the Waldorf, where he asked for the manager, whom he well knew.

“Yes, Mr. Illis is here,” he was informed, “but he’s registered under a different name.  No doubt he’ll be glad to see you, however.”

A moment later Murray recognized the voice of Illis’s valet over the wire and greeted him by name.  Another brief delay, and the capitalist himself was at the ’phone.

“Come right up,” he said; and O’Neil replaced the receiver with a sigh of relief.

Illis greeted him warmly, for their relations had been close.

“Lucky you found me,” he said.  “I’m going back on the next sailing.”

“Have you signed up with the Arctic Navigation Company?” Murray inquired; and the other started.