evered Lester Armstrong, and to hear
that he had suddenly gone wrong because he had become possessed of a
fortune was alarming and distressing news to them.

"Drink changes him so completely in temperament that it is hard to
realize that he is the same courteous companion of those other days. He
was so far gone from the effects of liquor I am not even sure that he
recognized me. Hark! what is that?"

Several of the detectives of the place were rushing through the main
office toward the private office, in answer to Mr. Armstrong's summons.
The call for them had been so furious that they rushed in pell-mell,
without waiting to take time to rap.

The bogus Mr. Lester Armstrong still sat in the luxurious leather
armchair, his heels on the desk, fairly hidden in heavy clouds of blue
smoke from his Havana cigar, at which he was puffing vigorously, fairly
going into convulsions of laughter over a letter bearing a blue and
gold monogram, which he was reading.

The unceremonious entrance of the four men caused him to spring suddenly
to his feet.

"What the d---l do you fellows want?" he exclaimed angrily. "How dare
you intrude upon me, in my private office, in this unheard-of fashion,
like a herd of escaped lunatics?"

"You rang for us," replied one of the men.

"I did not," replied the bogus Mr. Armstrong, resuming his seat
pompously.

"The bells certainly rang, sir!" exclaimed the other three,
simultaneously.

"Didn't I tell you that I didn't ring?" he answered, stamping his feet
furiously.

In less time than it takes to tell it three more men dashed into the
private office, exclaiming:

"We are here, sir, at the very first tap of your bell."

"You have all gone suddenly stark mad, or you are a set of the blamedest
fools in existence, as I have just told these men. I did not ring. What
on earth do you mean, by insisting that I did, I should like to know?"

"I beg your pardon, but you are still ringing, sir," declared one of the
men. "We can distinctly hear the bell ringing furiously. Do you not see
that your foot is still on it?"

"My foot!" exclaimed the bogus Mr. Armstrong, angrily. "Explain what you
mean at once."

For answer, the man stepped forward, and pulled aside the mat under his
employer's feet, mentally wondering if Mr. Lester Armstrong had not
grown suddenly daft himself, thereby disclosing a set of electric
buttons which the rug had cunningly concealed.

"You kept your foot on them and they r