I groaned out a miserable negative. "I left there at half-past eight this morning," I returned, "and he hadn’t come out of the stupor that I left him in last night." General Wilson drew a prolonged whistle, and looked grave. Then he said: "There’s just one thing to do. Get some of Kendrick’s friends to advance the half-million. Deposit it to his account. Then the bank will pay your check. Then you’ll have the money, and can pay back the advance inside of one minute." "Half a million is a big sum," I said doubtingly. "I don’t know anybody who will put that up at short notice." General Wilson threw himself back in his chair with an air of marvelous self-importance. "Hang it, man!" he cried. "Why don’t you ask me? You don’t suppose that General Wilson would let his friend Kendrick go to the wall for want of a trifling favor like that, do you? I’ve a notion to be insulted at not being asked--hang me if I haven’t!" I grasped his hand, and expressed my opinion of his offer in dumb show. There was a painful task before me, however, and as it could not be postponed, I hastened to perform it. "You’re a trump, General Wilson, but I can’t take up with your offer." "Why not?" "Because," I said slowly, "I can’t pay back the five hundred thousand if you advance it." "What do you mean?" demanded General Wilson in bewilderment. "Well, I am afraid that the figures on the check are correct." "Correct? How’s that?" "They are the figures of the balance of the syndicate’s fund deposited in Wharton Kendrick’s hands. They show the amount of money that ought to be in the bank--and it isn’t there." General Wilson drew another long whistle, and his face suddenly became grave again. "Then he has used half a million of the syndicate’s money?" "I suppose so." "What in the name of common sense did he do that for?" demanded the general irritably. "I suppose he was sure he could make it up when the time came," I said in feeble defense. "They always are," said the general grimly. "Oh, I have no doubt he had everything calculated out to the last dollar," I returned. "The only thing he didn’t calculate on was this knock on the head. If he was on his feet he would have the money in five minutes." "Well, I suppose he would," said the general. "But he isn’t on his feet, and what’s the result?" "The result is smash," said I with grim despair. "Partridge, Nelson and Coleman will be here inside of twenty minutes. When they set foot inside that door, Wharton Kendrick had better be dead." General Wilson studied vacancy for a minute. Then he said slowly: "You said you got a power of attorney out of Kendrick, didn’t you?" I handed him the paper I had drawn and Wharton Kendrick had signed. He studied it carefully, and then nodded his head as though it met his approval. At last he said: