ster Library. There open
Env. No. 1. Remember to hold all instructions secret. C. W., Jr.

Cyrus whistled. "That's funny!" he thought. "And it means my date with
Harold is off. Well, here goes!"

On his way out he stopped to telephone his friend of his detention, took
a Westchester Avenue car at the nearest point, and in twenty minutes was
at the library. He found an obscure corner and opened "Env. No. 1."

Go to office of W. K. Newton, Room 703, seventh floor, Norwalk
Building, X Street, reaching there by 9:30 A. M. Ask for letter
addressed to Cornelius Woodbridge, Jr. On way down elevator open
Env. No. 2. C. W., Jr.

Cyrus began to laugh. At the same time he felt a trifle irritated.
"What's father at?" he questioned, in perplexity. "Here I am away
uptown, and he orders me back to the Norwalk Building. I passed it on my
way up. Must be he made a mistake. Told me to obey instructions, though.
He usually knows just about why he does things."

Meanwhile Mr. Woodbridge had sent for his elder son, Cornelius. A tall
youth of seventeen, with the strong family features, varied by a droop
in the eyelids and a slight drawl in the speech, lounged to the door of
the library. Before entering he straightened his shoulders; he did not,
however, quicken his pace.

"Cornelius," said his father promptly, "I wish to send you upon an
errand of some importance, but of possible inconvenience to you. I have
not time to give you instructions, but you will find them in this
envelope. I ask you to keep the matter and your movements strictly to
yourself. May I have from you your word of honour that I can trust you
to follow the orders to the smallest detail?"

Cornelius put on a pair of eyeglasses, and held out his hand for the
envelope. His manner was nonchalant to the point of indifference.

Mr. Woodbridge withheld the packet and spoke with decision:

"I cannot allow you to look at the instructions until I have your word
of honour that you will fulfil them."

"Isn't that asking a good deal, sir?"

"Perhaps so," said Mr. Woodbridge, "but no more than is asked of trusted
messengers every day. I will assure you that the instructions are mine
and represent my wishes."

"How long will it take?" inquired Cornelius, stooping to flick an
imperceptible spot of dust from his trousers.

"I do not find it necessary to tell you." Something in his father's
voice sent the languid Cornelius to an erect position an