n his employer's chair. From the
stillness and gloom of the semi-deserted office-building two stealthy
figures descended swiftly upon him, their feet sinking noiselessly
into the rich pile of the rugs. A short, silent struggle, a cloth
saturated with chloroform pressed heavily over his face, and the
guardian of the premises lay inert. The shorter, more stocky of the
two nocturnal visitors, without more ado switched on a pocket electric
light and made a hasty but thorough survey of the room. The taller one
shrank back inadvertently from the drug-stilled body in the chair,
then resolutely turned and knelt beside his companion before the safe.
He dreaded to think of what discovery might mean. If he, Ramon
Hamilton, were to be caught in the act of burglarizing, his career as
a rising young lawyer would be at an end. The risk indeed was great,
but he had promised Henry Blaine every aid in his power to help the
girl he loved.

After a minute examination, the operative proceeded to work upon the
massive safe door. With the cunning of a _Jimmy Valentine_ he
manipulated the tumblers. Ramon Hamilton, his discomfiture forgotten,
watched with breathless interest while the keen, sensitive fingers
performed their task. Soon the great doors swung noiselessly back and
the manifold compartments within were revealed.

The young lawyer pointed out the drawer from which he had seen
President Mallowe remove the letter that morning, and it, too, yielded
quickly to the master-touch of the expert. There, on the very top of a
pile of papers, lay the written page they sought.

"He'll be all right. We haven't done for him, have we?" Ramon Hamilton
whispered anxiously, pointing to the watchman's unconscious form, as,
their mission accomplished, they stole from the room.

"Surest thing you know. He'll come to in half an hour, none the
worse," the operative responded. "We made a good clean job of it."

Henry Blaine could hardly suppress his elation when they laid the
letter before him on their return to his office.

"It's a forgery, just as I suspected," he exclaimed, with supreme
satisfaction. "Look, Hamilton; I'll show you how it was done."

"It is incredible. I can scarcely believe it. I know Pennington
Lawton's handwriting as well as I know my own, and I could swear that
his fingers guided the pen. His writing was as distinctive as his
character."

"It's that very fact," the detective returned, "which would have made
it easier to copy;