Jack Dunlap, pale and somewhat thin, still carrying his arm bound to his breast, felt the weight of the responsibility resting upon him in releasing Lucy’s husband from a promise that for months had held him near her should the husband’s presence be required at any moment, and was correspondingly silent and meditative. Nervous, expectant and fearful, David Chapman sat only half attentive to what was said or done around him. His ears were strained to catch the first sound that announced the coming of the visitors which he now dreaded. “The terms of the settlement of my interest in your house, Mr. Dunlap, are entirely too liberal to me, and I only accept them because of my anxiety to be freed from the cares of business at the earliest possible moment, and am unwilling to await the report of examining accountants,” said Walter Burton as he glanced over the paper submitted to him by Chapman. “Do you expect to leave the city at once?” asked Mr. Dunlap in a hesitating, doubtful voice. “Yes, I will make a tour through the Southern States, probably go to California and may return and take a trip to Europe. I have promised Captain Dunlap to keep your house informed of my movements and address at all times, and shall immediately respond, by promptly returning, if my presence in Boston be called for,” replied Burton. “I confess, Burton, that my mind is not free from doubt as to the propriety of allowing you to withdraw from our house. I should like to act as my brother James would have done. His wishes are as binding upon me now as when he lived,” said Mr. Dunlap in a low and troubled voice. “It is needless to rehearse the painful story of the last few months, Mr. Dunlap. Had your brother lived he must have perceived the total vanity of some of his most cherished wishes regarding the union of his granddaughter and myself. Heirs to his name and estate must be impossible from that union under the unalterable conditions. My wife’s dementia and her irrational aversion to my presence would have influenced him as it does you and me, and—I might as well say it—I am aware of the fact and realize the naturalness of the sentiment. I am _persona non grata_ here.” There was a tinge of bitterness in the closing sentence and Burton accompanied it with a defiant manner that evinced much concealed resentment. As Burton ceased speaking, the eyes of the four men sitting at the table turned to the door, hearing it open. The footman who had opened it had hardly crossed the threshold when he was pushed aside by the firm hand of Chief of Detectives O’Brien, who, in full uniform, followed by a man in citizens’ dress carrying a bundle under his arm, entered the room. Mr. Dunlap hurriedly arose and advancing with outstretched hand exclaimed, “Why! Chief, this is an unexpected pleasure—”