When I applied at the offices of the P. D. & B. D. and asked to be shown the books of the old company which had been reorganized and absorbed, I was met first by the polite assurance that there never was such a road as I mentioned, then that it had been wound up long ago and reorganized. Next, as I appeared somewhat firm, I was informed that the books had been burned up in a great fire, spoken of as Caleb Balderstone used to speak of the Ravenswood fire, as "the fire." This would have been an irremediable loss, but for the fact that I knew that there had been no fire since the reorganization of the company. I stated this fact with more positiveness than was usually employed in those offices and announced that unless those books were produced without further delay or misrepresentation, I would file a bill at once which would open the eyes of a number of persons. This procured for me an interview with an official of the vice-presidential rank--my first real advance. This proved to be my old acquaintance, Mr. Gillis, the agent of the Argand Estate. When I entered he wore an expression of sweet content as of a cat about to swallow a mouse. It was evident that he meant to have his revenge on me now. After stating my object in calling, with so much circumstantiality that there could be no mistake about it, I was informed by Mr. Gillis, briefly but firmly, that those books were not accessible, that they were "private property and not open to the public." Stillman Gillis was a wiry, clear-eyed, firm-mouthed, middle-sized man of about middle age as older men regard it. He had a pleasant address, perfect self-assurance, and a certain cool impudence in his manner which I have often observed in the high officials of large corporations. He had, I knew, been the private secretary and confidential man of Mr. David Argand. "I am aware that the books are private property," I said, "but it happens that I am myself one of the owners--I represent two very considerable owners of the stock of the old company." He shook his head pleasantly. "That makes no difference." I could not help thinking of the turnkey at the jail. It was insolence, but only of a different sort. "You mean to say that it makes no difference whether or not I am a stockholder when I demand to see the books of the company in which I hold my interest?" "Not the slightest," he admitted. "I suppose you have consulted counsel as to this?" "Oh! yes; but it was not necessary." "Well! you have the books?" "Oh! yes." "Because some of your people told me that they had been burnt up in a fire." "Did they tell you that?" he smilingly asked. "They did that to save you trouble." "Considerate in them." "Of course, we have the books--in our vaults." "Buried?" I hazarded. He nodded. "Beyond the hope of resurrection." He took up his pen to show that the interview was ended; and I took up my hat.