"I still visit the old place," she whispered, hurriedly. "Oh, Frank, to know that you are alive and well lifts a great load from my heart. Never doubt that it still beats alone for you." The door is flung open--the elevator has come. The door is closed--the elevator has gone. And Frank Mansfield, turning, beheld the tall form of Elijah Callister regarding him malevolently from the threshold of the open office beyond. CHAPTER XX. JERRY BUCK PLAYS THE PART OF A DETECTIVE AGAIN. It was after eight o'clock when Mr. Elijah Callister left the ---- Building, Broad street, by the side door opening upon Exchange Place, and the night had turned off cold. Detective Cutts was still with him, and buttoning their overcoats about them, both hurried off in the direction of William Street, with the air of men having business on hand. As for Frank Mansfield, he had left the office of the stock-broker a good three hours before, with his mind full of doubts and fears. "My daughter is quite capable of taking care of herself, Mr. Maxwell," the broker had said in his usual oily tones, as Frank returned to the office after the little scene enacted at the elevator door. "In future I beg you will be less attentive to any ladies who may chance to favor my office with a visit." With this rebuke he had shut himself up in the private office with Mr. Billy Cutts again, and was seen no more up to the usual hour for closing the office, when Frank, without attempting to even say good-night, simply put on his hat and walked out, wholly undetermined as to whether his hasty communication with Miss Edna Callister had been overheard. As the stock broker and the detective hurried along the southerly side of Exchange place--we mean the side where the street dealers in government bonds spend their entire time during business hours in leaning against the iron railings of the basement offices awaiting customers for their wares--there crept out from a doorway a ragged, shivering newsboy, hugging a great bundle of the evening papers tightly under his arm. Shooting a hasty glance at the men before him, he bounded ahead over the icy sidewalk, shouting at the top of his voice: "Fo'rt Commercial, Nooiz or Telegram! Evenin' papers, gents?" Evidently the "gents" were disinclined for the evening paper, for Callister, rudely pushing the boy aside, crossed William street and paused opposite the great stone building occupied by the Lispenard Bank, one of the wealthiest of the wealthy financial institutions in New York. For an instant only the pause was made; but during that instant the stock broker, with a hurried glance up and down the street--there was no one but the newsboy in sight, and he was half a block away--unrolled a stiff paper plan which he took from under his coat, and giving one end of it to Cutts to hold, pointed first at the plan and then at the building of the Lispenard Bank again. "Fo'rt Commercial! Nooiz! Telegram or German! Evenin' paper, gents?"