"The first thing I'm going to do," he said, "is return that fifty thousand dollars to Mr. Crabley. Here, help me gather this stuff up and sort it out into piles. We'll have to count it, too." The girl pitched in willingly and began to sort the bills. Swiftly they separated it. It was not until then that Peter Merton realized that the girl had called him by his first name. Was it the sight of all the money that had done it? Irene Simmons had never impressed him as the gold-digger type, but-- Peter shrugged and went on stacking the money. When they had finished, Irene said: "There's not quite enough to pay back Mr. Crabley." "That's easily fixed," Peter said, grinning. He put in some more books, closed the safe, and waited. When he opened it again, more money came tumbling out. This time, there was enough to pay back the Old Man and more besides. Peter sorted out a pile of the larger bills, enough to make fifty thousand, and marched to Mr. Crabley's office. The engraving on the door said: J. J. CRABLEY PRESIDENT He rapped deferentially, and when a voice said: "Come in!" Peter did exactly that. Old Man Crabley looked just like his name. He was a small, wizened, crab-faced man with yellowed skin and a totally bald head. "Well, sir! What is it this time?" he crackled. Peter began pulling the money out of the briefcase he had packed it in, in order to carry it to the Old Man's office. "I brought you the money, sir," Peter said. "You'll find it all there; fifty thousand dollars." The Old Man's eyes lit up with pleasure. Peter could almost see the green glow of money in them. "Excellent," said Mr. Crabley. "So the police caught the thief, hey? He'll get twenty years for this." "No, sir," Peter replied. "They haven't caught Quiggs yet, and they haven't found the money. This is out of my--ah--my savings." The Old Man's scraggly brows shot up. "Indeed? Savings? I didn't know you actually had that much. Hmmm. Well. Mmmm." He rubbed his hands together and frowned. "Well, this is really quite handsome of you, young man. You have more brains than I credited you with. Hmmm." He took out a letter opener and toyed with it. Finally, he said: "Peter, my boy, I'll tell you: I really didn't mean that you should do this; I was simply trying to throw a scare into you. I'll tell you what I'm going to do, my boy; I'm going to place this to your account with the firm. Henceforth, you are a junior partner of Crabley & Company, to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. "In addition, I'll have Mr. Twythe, the firm's lawyer, draw up a paper which will give you all rights to whatever money is recovered from Quiggs by the police." Peter started to say something, but Old Man Crabley just patted the air with a hand. "Tut, tut, my boy; think nothing of it. Any young man who can save a sum like that at your age deserves extra consideration. I have always admired a man who can make money."