A wonderful scheme was hatched in Count Kallash's fertile brain. Inspired by the thought of Prince Shadursky's newly replenished millions, he devised a plan for the gang which promised brilliant results, and only needed the aid of a discreet and skillful confederate. And what confederate could be more trustworthy than Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff? So the two friends were presently to be found in secret consultation in the count's handsome study, with a bottle of good Rhine wine before them, fine cigars between their lips, and the memory of a well-served breakfast lingering pleasantly in their minds. They were talking about the new resources of the Shadurskys.  
"To take their money at cards—what a wretched business—and so infernally commonplace," said Count Kallash. "To tell you the truth, I have for a long time been sick of cards! And, besides, time is money! Why should we waste several weeks, or even months, over something that could be done in a few days?"
 
Kovroff agreed completely, but at the same time put the question, if not cards, what plan was available?
 
"That is it exactly!" cried Kallash, warming up. "I have thought it all over. The problem is this: we must think up something that would surprise Satan himself, something that would make all Hades smile and blow us hot kisses. But what of Hades?—that's all nonsense. We must do something that will make the whole Golden Band throw up their caps. That is what we have to do!"
 
"Quite a problem," lazily answered Kovroff, chewing the end of his cigar. "But you are asking too much."
 
"But that is not all," the count interrupted him; "listen! This is what my problem demands. We must think of some project that unites two precious qualities: first, a rapid and huge profit; second, entire absence of risk."
 
"Conditions not altogether easy to fulfill," remarked Kovroff doubtfully.
 
"So it seems. And daring plans are not to be picked up in the street, but are the result of inspiration. It is what is called a 'heavenly gift,' my dear friend."
 
"And you have had an inspiration?" smiled Sergei Antonovitch, with a slightly ironical shade of friendly skepticism.
 
"I have had an inspiration," replied the supposititious Hungarian nobleman, falling into the other's tone.
 
"And your muse is—?"
 
"The tenth of the muses," the count interrupted him: "another name is Industry."
 
"She is the muse of all of us."
 
"And mine in particular............