Part 18 (1/2)

”The Big Five,” he murmured. ”Some of America's richest, surely Chicago's greatest millionaires. And Hanada dines with them. They will listen to him, too. They will hang on his word. The Big Five will listen. And if they say 'Yes,' if they do--” He drew in his breath sharply. ”If they do we will set the world afire with a great, new thing. They have the money, which is power, and I have the knowledge, which is greater power.”

There was a sound outside the door. A servant entered and, bowing deferentially, moved toward the table. He deftly rearranged the chairs and the silver. When he left, there were six places set. Hanada smiled.

Had one been permitted to look in upon the diners in this simply appointed room of one of America's great hotels that night, he might have wondered at the manner in which five of Chicago's great men hung upon the words of one little j.a.panese, who, now and then as he spoke, as if to indicate the vastness and grandeur of his theme, spread his hands forth in a broad gesture.

The meal ended, his speech concluded, all questions answered, he at last rose, and with a low bow said:

”And now, gentlemen, I leave the proposition with you. Please do not forget that it is a great and glorious venture; a new and glorious empire! An honor to your country and mine.”

He was gone.

For some time the five men sat in silence. Then one of them spoke:

”Is he mad?”

”Are we all mad?” questioned a second. His voice was husky.

”Well,” said a third, ”it sounds like a dream, a dream of great possibilities. We must sleep over it.”

Without another word they moved out of the room. The meeting, one of the most momentous in the history of the century, perhaps, was ended.

When Johnny Thompson heard the shot and the guttural mutter, ”Da bolice!” he made a final effort to rally his senses and to put up a fight.

He did succeed in struggling to his knees, but to fight was unnecessary.

Just as another shot sent echoes down the alley and a bullet sang over their heads, his a.s.sailants took to their heels.

A slight, slouching figure came gliding toward Johnny.

”Jerry the Rat!” he murmured; then to the man himself:

”So, it's you, Jerry. Haven't seen you for two years.”

Through blear-eyes the little fellow surveyed Johnny for a second.

”Johnny Thompson, de clean guy wot packs a wallop!” he exclaimed. ”Dere dey go! We can get 'em!” He pointed down the alley.

”Got a gun?” asked Johnny, standing a bit unsteadily.

”Two of 'em. C'mon. We ken git de yeggs yit.”

Johnny grasped the gun held out to him and the next instant was following the strangely swift rat of the waterfront.

”Dere dey go!” exclaimed the little fellow.

Down an alley they rushed, then out on a broad, but dimly lighted street. They were gaining on the gang. They would overhaul them. There would be a battle. Johnny figured this out as he ran, and tried to discover the mechanism of his weapon.

But at that juncture the pursued ones dashed through an open window of a deserted building which flanked the river.

”Dere dey go! De cheap sluggers!” exclaimed Jerry.