“Yes,” said Montague, “he might.  But where do you come in?”

“Well, if the man were going to do anything worth while, he’d need capital, would he not?  And he’d hardly dare to look for any money in the Street, where a thousand eyes would be watching him.  What more natural than to look out for some person who is in Society and has the ear of private parties with plenty of cash?”

And Montague sat in deep thought.  “I see,” he said slowly; “I see!” Then, fixing his eyes upon Oliver, he exclaimed, earnestly, “One thing more!”

“Don’t ask me any more,” protested the other.  “I told you I was pledged—­”

“You must tell me this,” said Montague.  “Does Bobbie Walling know about it?”

“He does not,” was the reply.  But Montague had known his brother long and intimately, and he could read things in his eyes.  He knew that that was a lie.  He had solved the mystery at last!

Montague knew that he had come to a parting of the ways.  He did not like this kind of thing—­he had not come to New York to be a stock-gambler.  But what a difficult thing it would be to say so; and how unfair it was to be confronted with such an issue, and compelled to decide in a few minutes in a cab!

He had put himself in his brother’s hands, and now he was under obligations to him, which he could not pay off.  Oliver had paid all his expenses; he was doing everything for him.  He had made all his difficulties his own, and all in frankness and perfect trust—­upon the assumption that his brother would play the game with him.  And now, at the critical moment, he was to face about, and say; “I do not like the game.  I do not approve of your life!” Such a painful thing it is to have a higher moral code than one’s friends!

If he refused, he saw that he would have to face a complete break; he could not go on living in the world to which he had been introduced.  Fifty thousand had seemed an enormous fee, yet even a week or two had sufficed for it to come to seem inadequate.  He would have to have many such fees, if they were to go on living at their present rate; and if Alice were to have a social career, and entertain her friends.  And to ask Alice to give up now, and retire, would be even harder than to face his brother here in the cab.

Then came the temptation.  Life was a battle, and this was the way it was being fought.  If he rejected the opportunity, others would seize it; in fact, by refusing, he would be handing it to them.  This great man, whoever he might be, who was manipulating stocks for his own convenience—­could anyone in his senses reject a chance to wrench from him some part of his spoils?  Montague saw the impulse of refusal dying away within him.

“Well?” asked his brother, finally.

“Oliver,” said the other, “don’t you think that I ought to know more about it, so that I can judge?”

“You could not judge, even if I told you all,” said Oliver.  “It would take you a long time to become familiar with the circumstances, as I am.  You must take my word; I know it is certain and safe.”