Several people came in and inquired for the insurance man during the next half-hour. Some of them went away saying they would return at eleven o’clock. Some others sat down like Frank, and waited. Frank heard the old clerk explain to one caller that Mr. Pryor was in his private room, but engaged in a most important consultation with a client. Frank grew restless. He approached the cross-grained clerk again. “Excuse me,” he said politely, “but I understand that Mr. Pryor is in his private room.” “What of it? Can’t be disturbed,” snapped out his representative. Frank retreated. He managed to endure a further tedious wait of a quarter-of-an-hour. Finally he strolled to the window looking down on the street. “That ‘other party’ is on his way here,” mused Frank anxiously. “Suppose he gets here before eleven o’clock? That gives him an even chance with myself. Oh, the mischief!” exclaimed Frank suddenly. “Now the pot’s in the fire, sure!” Frank gave a great start, and stared fixedly at a horse and gig that came clattering to a stop just then in front of the bank. Frank recognized the vehicle and its driver. As he did so, he as quickly guessed that this new arrival must be the “certain party” alluded to by Mr. Buckner. The new comer was Abner Dorsett, the man who had helped to swindle Frank’s mother out of her fortune. CHAPTER III A BUSINESS CALL Frank watched Dorsett dismount from the gig and tie his horse. He realized that he would be up into the insurance man’s office in a few minutes. “I must do something, and quickly,” thought Frank. “The second that man sees me he will suspect my mission here. He is a person of substance, and will carry weight. I shall be left if he gets into action first.” Frank reflected rapidly. The old clerk, as he had already found out, was unapproachable. Frank was seized with a wild impulse to leap over the wire railing and rush past the clerk to the door of Mr. Pryor’s private office. “Maybe it’s locked, though,” said Frank. “No, I won’t do that. I don’t see that I can do much of anything, except to wait and take my chance of getting the check into Mr. Pryor’s hands before Mr. Dorsett guesses what’s up.” Frank glanced at the clock. It showed ten minutes to eleven. He went out into the hall and drew back into the shelter of a big fuel box there. Dorsett came up the stairs, buggy whip in hand. He bustled into the office in his usual self-important way. Frank noticed that the old clerk sat down on him promptly. He was not one bit impressed with the bombastic visitor from Greenville. Dorsett scowled as the clerk pointed to the clock, and impatiently fumbling the whip, sat down with the others in the office to await the royal pleasure of its closeted proprietor. Frank did a lot of thinking. He planned all kinds of wild dashes when the door of that private office should open. Then, happening to stroll down the hall, a new idea was suggested to him. “Would it win?” Frank breathlessly asked himself.