CHAPTER XX.
THE BILLIONAIRE'S PLOT.
He was aroused from this bitter revery by a rapping at the door.
Opening, he admitted Slawson, his valet.

The servile one handed him a letter with a special-delivery stamp on it.
"Excuse me for intruding, sir," said Slawson, meekly smiling, "but I knew this was urgent." "All right.

Get out!" growled Flint.

When the man was gone, he fortified himself with a couple of morphine tablets, and ripped the long envelope.
It was from Slade, he knew, of the Cosmos Agency.
With a rapid eye he glanced it over.

Then uttering a sudden oath, he studied it carefully, under the electric bulb beside his dressing-table.
"Gods and devils!" he ejaculated.