As McAllister and Herbert assisted their supposed victim into the building, the clubman caught a glimpse of the lean Tomlinson and athletically built Conville standing together behind the pillars of the portico. The elevator whisked them up to the fifth floor so rapidly that the sick man swore loudly that he should never live to come down again. As they turned into the corridor toward the entrance of the office, McAllister saw his confederates emerge from the rear elevator. Things were going well enough, so far. Now for the _coup d'état_! The boy admitted them at once into the inner sanctum. As before, President Van Vorst sat there calmly smoking a cigar. At his right, in a corner by the window, stood a heavy iron safe. "Well," said McAllister briskly, "I've brought the stock, and I've brought its former owner with it. Do you recognize him?" "Well, well!" returned the President, stepping forward with great cordiality and clasping Wilkins's hand in his. "If it isn't my old engineer, Murphy! How are you, Murphy, old socks? It's nearly a year, isn't it, since you were at Stafford?" "Yes," replied Wilkins tremulously, "an' I'm a very sick man. I've got the skyathicer somethin' hawful." McAllister produced the stock from his coat-pocket. "Do you identify this certificate?" inquired the clubman. "Of course! Now think of that! I've been lookin' for that thousand shares ever since Murphy left the mine," said the Colonel with a show of irritation. "Well, are you ready to pay for it?" demanded McAllister sharply. The Colonel hesitated, looking from one to the other. Clearly he could not determine just how matters stood. "Well," he remarked finally, "I can't pay for it just this minute, but I'll go right out and get the money. You see, I didn't expect you back quite so soon. Who does the stock belong to, anyhow--you, or Murphy?" "At present it belongs to me," said the clubman.