That evening, while he was hard at work in his study, he received a telephone call from his brother.  “I’m coming round to see you,” said Oliver.  “Wait for me.”

“All right,” said the other, and added, “I thought you were dining at the Waitings’.”

“I’m there now,” was the answer.  “I’m leaving.”

“What is the matter?” Montague asked.

“There’s hell to pay,” was the reply—­and then silence.

When Oliver appeared, a few minutes later, he did not even stop to set down his hat, but exclaimed, “Allan, what in heaven’s name have you been doing?”

“What do you mean?” asked the other.

“Why, that suit!”

“What about it?”

“Good God, man!” cried Oliver.  “Do you mean that you really don’t know what you’ve done?”

Montague was staring at him.  “I’m afraid I don’t,” said he.

“Why, you’re turning the world upside down!” exclaimed the other.  “Everybody you know is crazy about it.”

“Everybody I know!” echoed Montague.  “What have they to do with it?”

“Why, you’ve stabbed them in the back!” half shouted Oliver.  “I could hardly believe my ears when they told me.  Robbie Walling is simply wild—­I never had such a time in my life.”

“I don’t understand yet,” said Montague, more and more amazed.  “What has he to do with it?”

“Why, man,” cried Oliver, “his brother’s a director in the Fidelity!  And his own interests—­and all the other companies!  You’ve struck at the whole insurance business!”

Montague caught his breath.  “Oh, I see!” he said.

“How could you think of such a thing?” cried the other, wildly.  “You promised to consult me about things—­”

“I told you when I took this case,” put in Montague, quickly.

“I know,” said his brother.  “But you didn’t explain—­and what did I know about it?  I thought I could leave it to your common sense not to mix up in a thing like this.”

“I’m very sorry,” said Montague, gravely.  “I had no idea of any such result.”

“That’s what I told Robbie,” said Oliver.  “Good God, what a time I had!”

He took his hat and coat and laid them on the bed, and sat down and began to tell about it.  “I made him realize the disadvantage you were under,” he said, “being a stranger and not knowing the ground.  I believe he had an idea that you tried to get his confidence on purpose to attack him.  It was Mrs. Robbie, I guess—­you know her fortune is all in that quarter.”

Oliver wiped the perspiration from his forehead.  “My!” he said.—­“And fancy what old Wyman must be saying about this!  And what a time poor Betty must be having!  And then Freddie Vandam—­the air will be blue for half a mile round his place!  I must send him a wire and explain that it was a mistake, and that we’re getting out of it.”

And he got up, to suit the action to the word.  But half-way to the desk he heard his brother say, “Wait.”