“Sit down a minute, Curtin, and we’ll talk this thing over. We’ve both got excited, and we’ve both talked big, and we’ve both pretty generally made fools of ourselves. That’s fun enough while it lasts; but when a fellow wakes up the next morning and has to face the consequences, he feels rather silly. If we don’t manage to hang together some way, why, I’ll be in an awkward fix, and you’ll be busted, and we’ll both wish we’d shown a little sense. Now I don’t ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself, and I never will ask you to. I don’t ask you to meddle with John Bagsbury’s private papers. This is a matter that concerns the bank, and you and I are as much a part of it as he is. But we’ll leave it this way: if you can find out what collateral it was that Pickering put up, why, it will help us both out. And if you can’t--well, we’ll talk about that later. Don’t say anything about it now. Take time to think it over. Good night.” * * * * * That was the reason why Curtin had puzzled the clerks by looking so thoroughly through the collateral box next morning. And now, for half an hour, he had searched drawer after drawer in the little oak cabinet in John Bagsbury’s private office. At first he listened intently for footsteps, but soon his quest became absorbing. Finally it was rewarded. There were the yellow warehouse certificates. Lard! Forty thousand tierces! And then the half-shut door behind him creaked as some one pushed it open. It was numbness rather than self-control that kept him still. Jack spoke,-- “I beg your pardon.” The sound of the voice, the voice which was not John Bagsbury’s, restored Curtin to himself. He looked up. “Ah, Mr. Dorlin! Are you looking for Mr. Bagsbury? He went home about an hour ago, I think. I want him myself. He’s put a certain paper away so carefully that we can’t find it.” There was another step behind them and Sponley entered the office. He glanced about before he spoke. “So I’ve missed the president again, have I? That seems to be sort of habit with me these days. However, it’s a matter of business, this time, that you can attend to, Mr. Curtin.” With that he turned and bowed to Jack Dorlin. It was a polite, deliberate bow, which turned Jack out of the office as effectively as if it had been a whole platoon of police. CHAPTER VIII A BATTLE “Your coffee must be stone cold by this time, dear,” Alice Bagsbury observed in a tone of mild remonstrance; “shan’t I pour you another cup?” “What’s that?” John asked absently, from behind his morning paper. “Oh, yes, if you please.” He took up the cup, but instead of handing it to her, he drank off the dismal beverage, and replacing the cup in its saucer turned back to his paper, apparently under the impression that he had followed her suggestion. “Do you know,” said Dick, “I think it’s dangerous to be as absent-minded as that. If that had been kerosene, you’d have drunk it just the same--all of it.”