"Friends! What friends? Be careful. If we are going to work together, you must follow my instructions to the letter. Are you sure of these friends of yours? Won't they give you away?" "I have no fear of that," replied the boy, quietly. "I've had some experience with treacherous friends. I know that I can depend on these." "Very well. Go to them, then, and meet me--let me see--you can meet me to-morrow at my house at four o'clock, if you don't see me before that time. Meanwhile, I'll keep this box and these papers, including your grandfather's will. We'll lay out a regular course of action together next time we meet. If we only had that parchment, the way would be plain; but it seems that we are obliged to follow the advice we have received so strangely to-night, whether we want to or not--to watch and wait." Pressing Frank warmly by the hand, Caleb Hook turned abruptly and walked off up Broadway. He did not look behind him, nor even turn his head. Passing Trinity Church and the grave-yard beyond, his form was presently lost to view among the high buildings which line either side of the street. And not until then did Frank Mansfield move from the place where the detective had left him, but remained leaning against the iron fence at the corner of Rector street and Broadway. No sooner had Caleb Hook disappeared, than he turned, and keeping close within the shadow of the wall, moved down Rector street in the direction of New Church. As he passed opposite the Webster Bank he turned and gazed upon it with feelings of mingled shame and an utter despisal of himself. If he had had no hand in the robbery, he had at least been ready to betray the secrets of those who had trusted him for hope of paltry gain. Within the banking-room lights were burning, and the boy could see his fellow clerks poring over books and papers in the endeavor to discover the extent of the bank's loss before opening for business next day. Deeply depressed, and with a sense of utter self-contempt strong upon him, Frank slunk by those lighted windows, and turning the corner of New Church street, still keeping close to the grave-yard wall, paused before the great iron door. Leaning against it, he cast a hasty glance up and down. The street was deserted. Not a soul was anywhere visible. But stay! It might have been fancy, but as he looked a second time it seemed to the boy, in his excited state of mind, that a woman's form at that moment turned the corner of Rector street upon the opposite side of the way and disappeared from view. Darting to the corner at the top of his speed, he swept the short street at one glance. That he had been mistaken was evident. From Broadway above to the river front below not a living thing was to be seen. "If this thing keeps up I shall go mad myself," he muttered, brokenly. "I see my dead mother now at every turn." Pausing once more in front of the iron door in the church-yard wall, he gave utterance to a peculiar bat-like cry.