of which a
wooden rail interposed between visitors and employes.

"I wish to see Mr. Whitmore," Mrs. Collins informed one of the office
boys.

"Hasn't come down yet," the boy replied.

"Is he often away as late as this?"

"No ma'am," said the boy. "He's usually here at nine o'clock."

"Has Mr. Beard been here this morning?"

"Not yet. But he telephoned he'll be here at twelve o'clock."

Ward consulted his watch. It was a quarter past ten. He questioned the
boy but was unable to obtain any information as to the possible
whereabouts of his employer or his secretary. So he and his sister
decided to await them at the office.

The visitors looked sufficiently important to warrant the office boy
ushering them into Whitmore's private office. As they passed down the
railed corridor they elicited the further information that no one
answering Collins's description had called that morning.

"He's probably patronizing a bar somewhere between here and the Grand
Central Station just now," commented Ward in an undertone.

They did not enter into further discussion of their impending financial
ruin while awaiting Whitmore. Immediately on dropping into a chair Mrs.
Collins seemed to draw within herself, surrendering to the harrowing
thoughts that filled her mind. Ward also became deeply preoccupied with
his own tangled affairs, his brain striving furiously to find some
solution of the dilemma into which he was plunged.

They took no note of the passing time; but the minutes sped swiftly
while they wrestled silently with the problems that had entered their
lives and when Ward suddenly looked up the hands of the little brass
clock on top of Whitmore's desk pointed to a quarter of twelve. An
instant later the door of the office was flung open and a tall figure,
clean-shaven, with clearly defined features, burst into the room.

On seeing the visitors the man paused, perplexed. It was plain that he
was under great stress of mind. His face was haggard, his eyes were
sunken, his mouth drawn, as if he had not yet recovered from some great
shock.

"Ward--Mrs. Collins!" he stammered.

The voice recalled the woman out of the dreamy state into which she had
lapsed. She scrutinized the man with eyes in which terror and suspense
mingled.

"Mr. Beard--why!--something has happened!" she gave voice to her fear.

"Yes, something dreadful has occurred," he said, trying to avert his
face.

A great fear shook the woman's frame. For an