As the Dakota Blizzard raged outside, inside the great apartment building of that name, Lily de Chantal continued to nurse Frank Master, who became a little feverish in the evening.

By Tuesday morning, he seemed to be a little better. But the city was cut off from the outside world, and the Dakota Blizzard was still raging.

During the afternoon, however, human ingenuity made one small but useful discovery. Some sharp fellows in Boston realized that there was a way to make telegraph contact with New York after all. They used the international cable and sent their messages, on a triangular route, via London.

On Wednesday morning, the storm began to diminish. The city remained at a standstill, but people were beginning to dig out. As the wind dropped, the freezing temperature rose, a little.

All the same, Hetty Master was most surprised when, at eleven o’clock that morning, her son Tom and another gentleman she did not know arrived at the house to see Frank.

“He’s away,” she said.

“I have to reach him, Mother,” said Tom. “It’s urgent. Can you please tell me where he is?”

“I don’t believe I can,” she answered, a little awkwardly. “Can’t it wait a day or two?”

“No,” said her son, “it can’t.”

“Could I speak to you alone?” she said.

It was quite a shock to Lily de Chantal when Tom Master and another gentleman arrived at the Dakota at noon. How they came to know that Frank was there, or what possible explanation they could have been given for his presence, she had no idea. They certainly didn’t seem to have the least interest in discussing such a matter. But they did, most emphatically, want to see Frank.

“He’s not very well,” she said. “He’s had a fever.”

“Sorry to hear it,” said Tom.

“I’ll ask if he will see you,” said Lily.

Frank Master, propped up in bed, gazed at his visitors. He couldn’t imagine how they’d found him, but there wasn’t much he could do about that now. Tom’s companion was a quiet, well-dressed man in his mid-thirties, who looked like a banker.

“This is Mr. Gorham Grey,” said Tom. “Of Drexel, Morgan.”

“Oh,” said Frank.

“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Master,” said Gorham Grey politely. “I should make clear that I am Mr. J. P. Morgan’s personal representative, and he has asked me to come to see you.”

“Oh,” said Frank, again.

“Knowing your son, I went to see him first, to ask him to make the introduction,” said Gorham Grey.

“Quite right,” said Tom.

“What’s it about?” asked Frank, nervously gripping the edge of the bed sheet.

“Mr. Morgan is desirous of buying a parcel of shares from you,” said Gorham Grey. “In the Hudson Ohio Railroad. You own ten percent of the outstanding stock, I believe.”

“Oh,” said Frank.