For an instant the old cashier stood like one suddenly paralyzed before the door of the private office from which that terrified scream had issued. Great God! was he mad or dreaming, that he should imagine he heard his daughter Margery's voice calling for help from within? But even as he stood there, trembling, irresolute, the piercing cry was repeated more shrilly, more piteous than before, and it cut through the frightened father's heart like the thrust of a dagger. "I am coming, I am here, Margery!" he answered, twisting the bronze knob fiercely; But the door did not yield to his touch as usual, and to his horror he realized that it was locked upon the inside! With the fury of a tiger, David Conway threw himself against it with all his strength; strong as the lock was, it could not withstand the weight that was brought to bear upon it, and in an instant it was snapped asunder, the door falling in with a crash. With a terrible imprecation Kendale wheeled about, his grasp around the girl's waist slackening for a single instant. And in that instant Margery sprang from him, darting into the arms of her father, who had leaped over the threshold. "How dare you enter here?" shrieked Kendale, fairly beside himself with baffled rage. The old cashier thrust his daughter behind him and walked up to the foiled villain, gazing him steadily, unflinchingly in the eye. "I am here just in time to defend my child," he cried, white to the lips, "and here to chastise you, you villain, old man as I am"--and with the rapidity of lightning his clinched fist fell upon the face of the man before him with stinging blows, that resounded with all the strength and force of a steel hammer. Kendale, who was by this time entirely under the influence of the brandy he had imbibed, was no match for the enraged cashier, who followed up his advantage by ringing blows, which fell as thick and fast as driving hail, until the other, coward as he was, fell down on his knees before him, shrieking out for mercy. The unusual disturbance soon brought a throng of cashiers, bookkeepers and clerks flocking to the scene. The old cashier turned upon them, holding up his hand to stay their steps as they crowded over the threshold, Mr. Wright, the manager, calling upon him anxiously to explain at once this unusual scene--this disgraceful encounter between his employer, who seemed unable to speak because of his injuries, and himself. "It is due you all to know just what has happened," replied the old cashier, in a high, clear voice, "but I say to you, by the God above me, if this hound dares arise from his knees ere I have finished, I will kill him before your very eyes. There is something he has to say before you all while still on his knees. Let no man speak until I have had my say, and then you--my companions of years, my fellow-workers, my friends of a lifetime--shall judge of my action in this matter and deal with me accordingly."