“So his gun's no good! I bet he didn't like that; he's always so blame sure of himself;” and Shanley did not attempt to disguise a certain lingering satisfaction that at last Tom Benson had encountered failure. “It's nothing to chuckle over!” said the bookkeeper resentfully. “If you'd seen him!” “Well, of course he'd take it hard; he takes everything hard, even his good luck, how'd you expect him to take this?” demanded the foreman. “If his gun's no good, he's been losing money hand over fist. Look here,” said Williams. “I want you to go back with me.” “Back with you where?” asked Shanley. “Why, to the shops; I left him there.” “You left him there?” cried Shanley. “Yes, worrying over the books. I got my doubts about him.” “Hold on, do you mean you think—” “I don't know what I think; but we'd better go back.” “He'll think we're spying on him, and I don't want to get the rough edge of his tongue.” “Neither do I,” agreed Williams. “I'll tell you what we'd better do—we'll go get Jake Benson, and have him go back with us. I tell you we'd be doing all wrong to leave the boss alone there. I don't feel right about it.” As they were standing on the corner in front of the lawyer's house, this took only a moment; and as the three men turned back toward the shops, Williams briefly explained his fears to Benson, who at each word quickened his pace; they arrived at the office panting and out of breath, but there was no light there now, the frosted panes showed white and clear. “He's not here—thank the Lord!” said Williams. “Gone home, I guess,” suggested Shanley. “Have you your key?” asked Benson of the bookkeeper. “If you have we'll go in and make sure.” Williams unlocked the door and pushed it open; then he struck a match and rather cautiously entered the room. The others followed him close, treading softly. “No, he's gone sure enough,” said Williams, giving a sigh of relief. “Probably he's home by this time.” “Of course he's home if he ain't here!” insisted Shanley. “Well, you've given us a pretty scare!” “What shall we do?” asked Williams of Benson, as he dropped the end of the match he had been holding. “I think we'd better go to his house and satisfy ourselves that he's there,” said the lawyer, speaking quietly from the darkness that enveloped them. They groped their way out into the night again. Williams locked the office door, and then turned to his companions. “I can go in and ask if he's there; and if he ain't, I can say we were expecting him back, and I thought he might have got in on the late train; we don't want to alarm them, you know. If he's there I'll make some sort of an excuse, say I lost my key in the snow and came to get his so I can open the office in the morning before he gets around.”