“I expect I am.” Drake laughed coarsely. “It’s the only thing worth the game. That’s the reason I hunt for it.”

On the night when Roswald Drake and his wife entertained Jesus as their guest at the Plaza, Jasper Carter was present in an attitude which he himself could not have described.

There was going on in him a conflict of passions. There had grown up in him a curious mingling of fear and hate and admiration for Jesus. In his own heart he did not yet know how strong all those passions had grown. He had almost stealthily gone into different religious gatherings in the city to hear Jesus speak. He had come away from each one of these meetings disturbed mentally and raging spiritually.

And tonight he awaited the coming of Jesus as a guest at Roswald Drake’s cynical, money-spattered table, with a doubt in his own mind, a feeling of strange uneasiness and unrest, added to a great curiosity to see and know this Person closer. Just why, he could not tell himself.

But he found himself watching the door through which Jesus would enter. And when he finally appeared, Carter instinctively rose and watched with keenest interest the meeting between him and Roswald Drake. And even he, prejudiced and bitter and cynical as he had become, could not resist the powerful impression, as he saw these two face each other, that somehow he was looking at perfect sinlessness and God-like purpose face-to-face with brutal, physical, material selfishness represented by the man Roswald Drake and all his tribe.

The week after this memorable evening at Roswald Drake’s, Jasper Carter was back in Raymond. The first person he met as he went into the Gazette office was Barnes.

During the entire absence of Carter in New York, Barnes had continued on the Gazette as Carter had requested him to remain, at least until Carter’s return. Barnes had wondered at Carter’s prolonged absence and had not been able to account for it. Now, as they met in the hall near Carter’s office door, he was struck with the look on Carter’s face. He looked much older and haggard.

“Come in,” Carter had said abruptly. “I want to talk with you.”

Barnes came in and Carter shut the door.

“This Jesus of yours will be the death of me yet,” he said, speaking with forced roughness.

Barnes eyed him in astonishment. Then he said while his eye glowed, “Or the life of you, Mr. Carter.”

“One or the other, let us hope,” replied Carter wearily. “But look here, Barnes, this thing is wearing on me. I went to New York, not to attend the editors’ convention, but to unmask this Prince of frauds. Instead of that . . .”

He paused so long that Barnes felt exceedingly awkward. At the same time, a great light began to glow in his face. Could it be that Carter . . . ?