It was a short walk to Tom Benson's; and the lawyer, and Shanley, paused in the street opposite the house while Williams crossed and knocked at the front door. It was opened almost immediately and Williams entered the house. A moment later the door opened again, and the bookkeeper rejoined his two companions. “He ain't there,” he said. “What next?” “He may have gone up street,” suggested Shanley. “I think we'd better go back to the office,” said Benson, “and look around again; perhaps he's inside somewhere—possibly in the pattern-room.” Arrived at the office, Williams again unlocked the door; and the two men followed him in as before, treading softly. “Find a lamp,” said Benson. “I want to make certain this time whether he's here or not.” A lamp was found and lighted, and then for the first time Williams noticed that the door leading into the shops was standing slightly ajar. He called the attention of the others to this. “I closed and fastened it when I left,” he said. “I always do before I go out.” “He's in the pattern-room probably,” said Benson. “But we'll go back and make sure.” They were half-way down the long room among the lathes and shafting, when the foreman who was in advance, started back with a cry of horror; for there not ten feet in front of him was a large dark object which seemed to be suspended from the arm of a heavy crane. It was swinging gently to and fro. Near it was a moulder's case set on edge. Then as they looked, the object turned slightly, and the light of their lamp shone full on Tom Benson's rigid face and starting eyes. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR BENSON was aghast when he came to look into the affairs of the shops. The condition there was beyond anything he had anticipated; for in seeking to further his invention, Tom Benson had completely lost his head. He had spent money lavishly; the business he had so largely extended during his years of careful management had been neglected until nothing remained. But at last the ruinous record was complete; by the middle of summer the last creditor satisfied; and the lawyer was able to coolly consider the situation. He was terribly crippled by the failure. The very house he lived in was mortgaged, and he applied himself to his profession and his client's interests with an assiduousness he had never before manifested. He was just beginning to breathe freely again when one day he received one of Virginia's rare summons, and drove to the farm. “Mr. Stark was here yesterday,” she said, when she greeted him, with an attempt at composure that was hardly successful. “Mr. Stark?” he repeated. He looked blank. “Yes; he wants his money, Mr. Benson,” she said unsteadily. “And he dared to come here to you!” burst out Benson furiously. “He promised me he'd wait!”