Several of the detectives of the place were rushing through the main office toward the private office, in answer to Mr. Armstrong's summons. The call for them had been so furious that they rushed in pell-mell, without waiting to take time to rap. The bogus Mr. Lester Armstrong still sat in the luxurious leather armchair, his heels on the desk, fairly hidden in heavy clouds of blue smoke from his Havana cigar, at which he was puffing vigorously, fairly going into convulsions of laughter over a letter bearing a blue and gold monogram, which he was reading. The unceremonious entrance of the four men caused him to spring suddenly to his feet. "What the d---l do you fellows want?" he exclaimed angrily. "How dare you intrude upon me, in my private office, in this unheard-of fashion, like a herd of escaped lunatics?" "You rang for us," replied one of the men. "I did not," replied the bogus Mr. Armstrong, resuming his seat pompously. "The bells certainly rang, sir!" exclaimed the other three, simultaneously. "Didn't I tell you that I didn't ring?" he answered, stamping his feet furiously. In less time than it takes to tell it three more men dashed into the private office, exclaiming: "We are here, sir, at the very first tap of your bell." "You have all gone suddenly stark mad, or you are a set of the blamedest fools in existence, as I have just told these men. I did not ring. What on earth do you mean, by insisting that I did, I should like to know?" "I beg your pardon, but you are still ringing, sir," declared one of the men. "We can distinctly hear the bell ringing furiously. Do you not see that your foot is still on it?" "My foot!" exclaimed the bogus Mr. Armstrong, angrily. "Explain what you mean at once." For answer, the man stepped forward, and pulled aside the mat under his employer's feet, mentally wondering if Mr. Lester Armstrong had not grown suddenly daft himself, thereby disclosing a set of electric buttons which the rug had cunningly concealed. "You kept your foot on them and they rang, calling us here instantly," returned the man. "Bless me! I forgot entirely about those confounded electric buttons," declared the bogus Armstrong, turning very red. "I'll have 'em put somewhere else to-morrow; great nuisance; always in the way." And after an instant a bright thought occurred to him, and he said blandly: "Well, to tell you the truth, men, I was only trying you to see how quickly you would respond; you may all go now." The men quitted the private office, looking rather dumfounded into each other's blank faces, and in less than half an hour afterward every employee in the vast dry goods establishment heard the shocking news, that Mr. Lester Armstrong, whom they all believed well-nigh perfect, was terribly intoxicated up in his private office, but they were to be still more astounded ere the eventful day closed. CHAPTER XVI. THE WILL DISINHERITING FAYNIE.