Evarts was sales manager of the Armstrong Company, under Wren--another of Armstrong's own men, devoted to him. Far from being the nervous, high-strung type of Wren, this Evarts was imperturbable, well poised, thoroughly alert and aggressive; a good man in all respects, and substantial. The door opened and Evarts appeared. "Where's Jimmy Wren?" demanded Armstrong. Evarts closed the door behind him and stared blankly. Then Armstrong perceived that his face was haggard, seared with the brand of worry and of sleepless nights. Evarts came slowly forward, his eyes fastened upon Armstrong; that gaze betrayed a doubt, a wild anxiety, tormenting the inner man. "Jimmy's gone,"' he said slowly. "Where?" Evarts waved his hand in vague fashion. "My heavens, chief! Don't you know what's going on here? Everything's paralyzed. No one knows what to expect, when indictments will be--" "Stop your drooling! Where's Wren?" "In Tampa, by this time. On his way to Europe." "Tampa? Europe?" Armstrong was astounded. "Why, in the devil's name?" Evarts made a desperate effort, forced himself to comparative calmness. "Skipped out ahead of the crash, that's all. We're expecting every minute to have the records seized. Two postal inspectors were here yesterday, going into things with Macgowan. The Wilmington office 'phoned in yesterday to Wren that we could look for a fraud order to-day, and also for indictments. Jimmy had a conference with Macgowan, and skipped out. Bangs has resigned and gone. I've been thinking of it myself, only--" Armstrong sat back in his chair, and his eyes bit out like steel. "Where do you fellows think you are--in Sing Sing already? What's all this foolery about indictments? You men ought to know better. I sent Wren back here ready to pull off his coat and fight. What's happened?" Evarts hesitated, flushed, and then broke into impulsive speech. "You weren't here--that's the main thing! There was ugly talk floating all around; one report was that you had skipped. Nothing definite has happened; the general idea seems to be that you're a crook, that you've floated Food Products on a false bottom, and that there's hell to pay on account of the way the stock's been handled by our men. If you think it's easy for a fellow to stick around and face indictments when the chief is gone, then think again!" Armstrong sat motionless. The ghastly humor of all this brought a mirthless and angry smile to his lips. Poor Wren fled in blind, unreasoning panic for the second time; Evarts in a state of funk; Bangs gone, the heads of the organization shattered and reeling--and all because of false rumors! It seemed incredible. It was incredible. There was more in this than had appeared yet. "What made you stick around, then?" demanded Armstrong.