She smiled her forgiveness and went on with her work. “There, that’s done,” she said, in a few moments, pushing back her chair. “I hope I haven’t made any mistakes,” as she rose to take the sheets into the inner office. “No fear of that, I guess,” said the boy, encouragingly. “You’re about as accurate as they come, Bessie.” She paused on the threshold of the door to flash him back a look of appreciation for the compliment and then disappeared within. Presently she returned and started to put on her things. “It looks a little bit like rain, doesn’t it?” she asked, glancing at the darkened sky, where not a star was visible. “You can have my umbrella, if you wish,” Vance offered, “but I guess it won’t rain yet awhile.” “Never mind; I’ll chance it. Good night, Vance.” “Good night, Bessie,” and the outside door closed behind her. Vance returned to his desk and proceeded to make copious extracts from a pile of pamphlets and reports he had taken from a closet. In half an hour Mr. Whitemore came out of his sanctum with his hat on. “You’d better go to supper now, Vance. Meet me promptly at eight o’clock at my rooms,” he said, “and bring everything with you.” “Yes, sir.” Mr. Whitemore left, and the lad, making a bundle of his notes and such papers as he knew were wanted by his employer, turned out the electric lights and locked up the office. He didn’t know it then, but this was the last time for many days he was to see the inside of the Rookery Building. Nor did he dream of the tragedy that awaited his return to the office. CHAPTER II. BOUND WEST. Vance went to a Clark Street restaurant and had supper. It was all right, but the boy did not enjoy it as much as he would have done at home. The Thorntons lived in a small house, one of a row, on the North Side, which Mrs. Thornton owned. They had once been wealthy, for Mr. Thornton had at one time been a successful member of the Chicago Board of Trade. But a few months before his death, which had occurred ten years previously, he had been caught in a short deal and squeezed. He extricated himself at the cost of his entire fortune. Everything was swept away except the one little house, the property of Mrs. Thornton, to which the family immediately moved, and a few thousand dollars banked in the wife’s name. After Mr. Thornton’s death the widow devoted herself to her children, and when Vance graduated from the public school, she made application to Mr. Whitemore, with whom her husband had had business relations, for a position for her son in his office. The application being made at a lucky moment, the lad was taken on, and had in every way proved himself worthy of Jared Whitemore’s confidence. Promptly at eight o’clock Vance was shown up to Mr. Whitemore’s rooms in the Grand Pacific Hotel. The corn operator was in his sitting-room before a table that was scattered over with papers and telegraph blanks.