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Caldwell said nothing; privately he
was becoming afraid of his bluff.
However, the next morning the fol
lowing advertisement was read:
"Couldn't get money in time. To
night. J. C."
That night, with the jeering Simp
son still watching from the shadows
across the street, Caldwell, having
ascertained that the street was oth
erwise deserted, passed along the
sidewalk toward the niche. There,
just visible in the dark, was the cor
ner of an envelope.
He pulled it forth exultantly and
hurried across to his friend. "Now!"
At that instant two men stepped
out from the recess of a gateway,
and each of the friends saw the busi
ness end of a revolver in dangerous
proximity to his nose. At the next
moment a taxi wmzzed along and
stopped. "Throw 'em in," said one
of the two.
Caldwell and Simpson found them
selves, a uttie later, being wnirled
nlong toward the river. Facing them
in the taxi cab sat a tall, powerful
looking old man, and a younger one,
resembling him as closely as youth
can resemble age. Caldwell gasped.
It was James Clay himself, and his
son, a junior member of the firm.
"What are you going to do?" he
"Settle your hash," said the multi
millionaire, quite melodramatically.
"You don't play that game on James
"I suppose you are taking us to
the police station," said Caldwell,
"but won't you listen to me? My
name is Philip Caldwell, and this was
a practical joke, tfie result of a bet
I have a big business in stationery,
and Mr. Simpson is a prominent
wholesale merchant Let me give
you my card."
"You don't play that game on
James Clay," repeated the million
, The. taxi whizzed toward the out
Skirts and drew into the tarred road
that runs straight as a die for a hun
dred miles to the capital. It halted
on the high bridge that spans the
river. It stopped. The millionaire
grasped Caldwell with hands that
seemed of steel, while in a moment
Simpson found himself struggling in
the clutch of the son. They were
flung from the cab upon the road
way, and the vehicle drove swiftly
Caldwell looked down into the
foaming river, two hundred feet be
"What are you going to do here?"
"Pitch 'em over, Joe," said the
"I tell you it was all a joke !" Cald
well screamed frantically, as he felt
himself being dragged toward the
edge of the bridge. He was help
less as a child in the old man's grip.
He fought and struggled in vain.
Suddenly the son's voice arrested
the millionaire in the final act
"Why, wait a minute, father," he
exclaimed.,. "This gentleman is
George 'Simpson, of the town. He
owes our bank nine thousand dol
lars. If we pitch him over we lose
"Of course I am," roared Simpson,
who had hitherto been paralyzed
from fright "And it's all a joke all
a joke, I tell you. We made a bet
that any man could be blackmailed,
and we tried it on your father, worse
Caldwell was halted on the very
verge of the abyss. "Do you mean
to say you aren't Red Ike of Bow
ville?" demanded his captor.
"For the last time, no!" shouted
Caldwell furiously, and yet in. abject
"Well, well, whatvyou say goes,
Joe," said the old "man. "Shall we
let these jokers go free?"
"I guess we'd better. They won't
try a joke like that again in a hurry,"
answered Joe Clay.
At that moment the taxi came
crawling back, and the old man