The following morning Eleanore had no time to think of why Daniel had not gone home. Jordan had just finished his breakfast when some one rang the door bell with unusual rapidity. Eleanore went to the door, and came back with Herr Zittel, who was in a rare state of excitement. “I have come to inquire about your son, Jordan,” he began, clearing his throat as though he were embarrassed. “About my son?” replied Jordan astonished, “I thought you had given him three days’ leave.” “I know nothing about that,” replied Herr Zittel. “Last Saturday evening he went on a visit to his friend Gerber in Bamberg to celebrate the founding of a club, or something of that sort; we are not expecting him until to-morrow. If you know nothing about this arrangement, Herr Diruf must have given him his leave.” The chief of the clerical department bit his lips. “Can you give me the address of this Herr Gerber?” he asked, “I should like to send him a telegram.” “For heaven’s sake, what has happened, Herr Zittel?” cried Jordan, turning pale. Herr Zittel stared into space with his gloomy, greenish eyes: “On Saturday afternoon Herr Diruf gave your son a cheque for three thousand seven hundred marks, and told him to cash it at the branch of the Bavarian Bank and bring the money to me. I was busy and did not go to the office in the afternoon. To-day, about a half-hour ago, Herr Diruf asked me whether I had received the money. It turned out that your son had not put in his appearance on Saturday, and since he has not shown up this morning either, you will readily see why we are so uneasy.” Jordan straightened up as stiff as a flag pole: “Do you mean to insinuate that my son is guilty of some criminal transaction?” he thundered forth, and struck the top of the table with the bones of his clenched fist. Herr Zittel shrugged his shoulders: “It is, of course, possible that there has been some misunderstanding, or that some one has failed to perform his duty. But in any event the affair is serious. Something must be done at once, and if you leave me in the lurch I shall have to call in the police.” Jordan’s face turned ashen pale. For some reason or other he began to fumble about in his long black coat for the pocket. The coat had no pocket, and yet he continued to feel for it with hasty fingers. He tried to speak, but his tongue refused to obey him; beads of perspiration settled on his brow. Eleanore embraced him with solicitous affection: “Be calm, Father, don’t imagine the worst. Sit down, and let us talk it over.” She dried the perspiration from his forehead with her handkerchief, and then breathed a kiss on it. Jordan fell on a chair; his powers of resistance were gone; he looked at Eleanore with beseeching tenseness. From the very first she had known what had happened and what would happen. But she dared not show him that she was without hope; she summoned all the power at her resourceful command to prevent the old man from having a paralytic stroke.