“Very well,” said Montague.

In the street outside, among a group of half a dozen automobiles, he recognised the General's limousine car.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” was the reply.

“I'll ride with you, if you like,” said Montague. “I've something to say to you.”

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“All right,” said the General. He could not very well have refused, for Montague had taken him by the arm and started toward the car; he did not intend to be put off.

He helped the General in, got in himself, and shut to the door behind him. Prentice sat staring in front of him, still half in a daze.

Montague watched him for a minute or so. Then suddenly he leaned toward him, and said, “General, why do you let them persuade you to do it?”

“Hey?” said the other.

“I say,” repeated Montague, “why do you let them persuade you?”

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The other turned and stared at him, with a startled look in his eyes.

“I know all about what has happened,” said Montague. “I know what went on at that conference.”

“What do you mean?” gasped the General.

“I know what they made you promise to do. They are going to wreck the Gotham Trust Company.”

The General was dumfounded. “Why!” he gasped. “How? Who told you? How could you—”

Montague had to wait a minute or two until his friend had got over his dismay.

“I cannot help it,” he burst out, finally. “What can I do?”