at ten o'clock
to-morrow. I'll give you a stenographer and one of our assistant
cashiers. Then you can verify the whole contents of Clayton's rooms
with the detectives. The lawyers and head police will look through
his safe and office papers under my eye."

At the parting, Ferris, worn out by the day's excitements, murmured,
as if seeking a confirmation of his theory, "Clayton has been acting
very strangely of late. Old Hugh wanted me to give him a talking
to!"

"There'll be a reward offered, of course," said Jack, anxious to
lead Ferris out.

"Certainly," was the rejoinder. "I think fifteen thousand for him,
and ten more for the money or cheques. But all depends on Hugh!"

"I'll meet you at ten," gravely answered the stranger lawyer. "This
will break up our dinner, I am sick at heart."

Once in his room, Witherspoon drew out the two articles which he had
concealed. The first was a little red morocco card-case, evidently
dropped as the supposed fugitive had left his room! Jack's fingers
trembled as he drew out the few visiting cards. With a wildly
beating heart he examined them.

He sprang excitedly to his feet as he read the faintly pencilled
lines traced on the back of one, "Irma Gluyas, No. 192 Layte Street,
Brooklyn."

It was the work of an instant only to glance at the label torn from
the picture-case. The printed words, "Newport Art Gallery," were
visible above the words, "Fraeulein Irma Gluyas, 192 Layte Street,
Brooklyn," and the adjuration, "Handle with care," completed the
marks upon the tell-tale paper.

The anxious lawyer saw the magnificent castle in the air which
he had builded crumbled at his feet. "This is for me alone," he
swore in his heart, and it was only after an hour's cogitation that
he resolved upon his course. "I must hunt up Doctor Atwater; but,
first, wait for the wishes of Worthington. The package from Detroit
may tell me something. And I must examine that picture and see that
no tell-tale inscription is on the back. Here is the key of the
mystery."

Seated alone, with his nerves strained to the utmost, a sudden
inspiration came to the loyal friend of the missing man. "I am too
late. They have killed him!"

He cursed the evil hour when he left for Europe without placing
Randall Clayton in a place of safety. "I should have taken him
with me, or else gone West with him and braved old Hugh. Yes; they
have lured him away! Killed him, and hidden this money. It will
all come out