dressing-room. Andre, the hair-dresser, is with her."

Mr. Checkynshaw rushed up stairs, and rushed into the apartment where
Andre was curling the hair of a pale, but rather pretty young lady of
twelve. His abrupt appearance and his violent movements startled the
nervous miss, so that, in turning her head suddenly, she brought one of
her ears into contact with the hot curling-tongs with which the barber
was operating upon her flowing locks.

"O, dear! Mercy! You have killed me, Andre!" screamed Elinora, as her
father bolted into the room.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Checkynshaw," pleaded Andre.

"You have burned me to death! How you frightened me, pa!" gasped the
young lady.

"Mind what you are about, Andre!" exclaimed the banker, sternly, as he
examined the ear, which was not badly damaged.

"The young lady moved her head suddenly. It was really not my fault,
sir," added Andre.

"Yes, it was your fault, Andre," replied Elinora, petulantly. "You mean
to burn me to death."

"I assure you, mademoiselle--"

"Where do you live, Andre?" demanded the banker, interrupting him.

"Phillimore Court, No. 3," replied the barber.

"I want you to go there with me at once," bustled the banker. "Is your
boy--What's his name?"

"Leo, sir."

"Leo. Is he at home?"

"I think he is. Do you wish to see him, sir?"

"I do. Come with me, and be quick!"

"Leo would not be able to serve you, sir; he cannot leave his school."

"I want to see him; my safe has been robbed, and your boy was with the
man who did it."

"Leo!" gasped the barber, dropping his hot iron upon the floor, and
starting back, as though a bolt of lightning had blasted him.

"Yes; but come along! I tell you I'm in a hurry!" snapped Mr.
Checkynshaw.

"He can't go now, pa," interposed the daughter. "He must finish
dressing my hair."

"He shall return in a short time, Elinora," replied the banker.

"He shall not go!" added she, decidedly, and with an emphasis worthy of
an only daughter.

"Leo!" murmured the poor barber, apparently crushed by the terrible
charge against the boy.

"No. 3 Phillimore Court, you say," continued the banker, as he moved
towards the door, yielding to the whim of the spoiled child.

The barber did not answer. His eyes rolled up in his head; he staggered
and fell upon the floor. Elinora shrieked in terror, and was hurried
from the room by her father.

CHAPTER V.

LEO MAGGIMORE.

Andre Maggimore had an apoplectic fi