“This is a bigger proposition than the North Pass, Mr. Illis.  You made money out of that road, but this one will make more.”  He swiftly outlined the condition of affairs, even to the attitude assumed by the Heidlemanns; and Illis, knowing the speaker as he did, had no doubt that he was hearing the exact truth.  “But that’s not all,” continued O’Neil.  “The S. R. & N. is the club which will hammer your enemies into line.  That’s what I came to see you about.  With a voice in it you can control the traffic of all central Alaska and force the San Francisco crowd to treat the N. P. & Y. fairly, thereby saving half a million a year.”

“It’s a big undertaking.  I’m not sure our crowd could swing it.”

“They don’t have to.  There’s a quick profit of two million to be had by selling to the Trust next spring.  You can dictate your own terms to those blackmailers to-morrow, and then make a turn-over in nine months.  It doesn’t matter who owns the S. R. & N. after it’s completed.  The steamboat men will see their profits cut.  As it is now, they can make enough out of their own territory to haul freight into yours for nothing.”

“I dare say you’ll go to them if we don’t take you up, eh?”

“My road has its strategic value.  I must have help.  If you don’t come to my rescue it will mean war with your line, I dare say.”

Mr. Illis sat back, staring at the ceiling for a long time.  From the street below came the whir and clatter of taxicabs as the midnight crowd came and went.  The city’s nocturnal life was at its height; men had put aside the worries of the day and were devoting themselves to the more serious and exhausting pastimes of relaxation.  Still the white-haired Briton weighed in his mind the matter of millions, while the fortunes of Murray O’Neil hung in the balance.

“My people won’t buy the S. R. & N.,” Illis finally announced.  “But I’ll put it up to them.”

“I can’t delay action if there’s a chance of a refusal.  I’ll have to see Blum and Capron,” said O’Neil.”

“I’ll cable full details within the hour.  We’ll have an answer by to-morrow night.”

“And if they refuse?” O’Neil lit a cigar with steady fingers.

“Oh, if they refuse I’ll join you.  We’ll go over the matter carefully in the mean time.  Two million you said, didn’t you?”

“Yes.  There’s two million profit for you in nine months.”  His voice was husky and a bit uneven, for he had been under a great strain.

“Good!  You don’t know how resentful I feel toward Blum and his crowd.  I—­I’m downright angry:  I am that.”

Illis took the hand which his caller extended, with an expressionless face.

“I’m glad I found you,” confessed O’Neil.  “I was on my last legs.  Herman Heidlemann will pay our price when the last bridge-bolt is driven home, and he’ll pay with a smile on his face—­that’s the sort of man he is.”

“He won’t pay if he knows I’m interested.  We’re not exactly friendly since I sold out my smelter interests.  But he needn’t know—­nobody need know.”