e minute-hand broke off short in his fingers. A spasmodic
movement of his, as the thin metal snapped, pulled the chain off its
cylinder, and the weight fell with a crash.

All the clerks looked up; and the red-headed office-boy was prompt in
answer to the bell Paul rang a moment after.

"Bobby," said the young man to the boy, as he took his hat and
overcoat, "I've just broken the clock. I know a shop where they make a
specialty of repairing timepieces like that. I'm going to tell them to
send for it at once. Give it to the man who will come this afternoon
with my card. Do you understand?"

"Cert," the boy answered. "If he 'ain't got your card, he don't get the
clock."

"That's what I mean," Paul responded, as he left the office.

Before he reached the door he met Mr. Wheatcroft.

"Paul," cried the junior partner, explosively, "I've been thinking
about that--about that--you know what I mean! And I have decided that
we had better put a detective on this thing at once!"

"Yes," said Paul, "that's a good idea. In fact, I had just come to the
same conclusion. I----"

Then he checked himself. He had turned round slightly to speak to Mr.
Wheatcroft; he saw that Major Van Zandt was standing within ten feet of
them, and he noticed that the old book-keeper's face was strangely
pale.

III

During the next week the office of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had its
usual aspect of prosperous placidity. The routine work was done in the
routine way; the porter opened the office every morning, and the
office-boy arrived a few minutes after it was opened; the clerks came
at nine, and a little later the partners were to be seen in the inner
office reading the morning's correspondence.

The Whittiers, father and son, had had a discussion with Mr. Wheatcroft
as to the most advisable course to adopt to prevent the future leakage
of the trade secrets of the firm. The senior partner had succeeded in
dissuading the junior partner from the employment of detectives.

"Not yet," he said, "not yet. These clerks have all served us
faithfully for years, and I don't want to submit them to the indignity
of being shadowed--that's what they call it, isn't it?--of being
shadowed by some cheap hireling who may try to distort the most
innocent acts into evidence of guilt, so that he can show us how smart
he is."

"But this sort of thing can't go on forever," ejaculated Mr.
Wheatcroft. "If we are to be underbid on every contract worth having,