The rain of the night before had not yet quite ceased, the skies were lowering, and mist still lay heavily on the town. Hal noticed as he came into the business portion of the city that in many of the stores and offices lights were burning to dispel the gloom. This was true also at the Barriscale plant. A hundred windows of the big buildings that faced the plaza were illuminated from within. But in Hal’s mind the lights gave no cheerful aspect to the scene. They were like so many eyes trying to stare him out of countenance. It required a new mustering of courage to mount the steps that led to the office door and make his entrance there. The clerk who approached him to inquire as to the nature of his business said that Mr. Barriscale had not yet arrived. Hal turned away with a sense of temporary relief, left the building, crossed the plaza, and went back toward the central city. Just as he reached the corner of the main street he saw Mr. Barriscale’s car turn and go down toward the factory. It pulled up in front of the big building, and the manufacturer descended from it and entered his office. But Hal did not immediately return. He reasoned that the head of the company would be very busy for a little while, getting his day’s work started, and there would be a better chance to see him later. It was a full half-hour afterward that he returned to the mills. The same clerk who had met him on his first visit told him that the president of the company was now in and asked him to give his name and to state the nature of his business. “I am Halpert McCormack,” was the reply. But his voice was so low and seemed so strangely weak that the young man was not able to hear it plainly above the hum of voices in the room, the clicking of typewriters, and the muffled roar of distant machinery. “I am Halpert McCormack,” repeated the boy. “I want to see Mr. Barriscale about taking away the marble figure from his fountain last night.” “Very well, wait here.” The clerk disappeared through a door marked “Private Office,” and reappeared in a few moments and requested Hal to enter. So the midnight marauder found himself standing, cap in hand, in the presence of the great man of the city. Mr. Barriscale was seated at a table in the center of the room, and seemed to be absorbed in the scrutiny of a document he was holding in both hands. When he finally laid the paper down and looked at his visitor it was with no friendly gaze. “Well,” he inquired brusquely, “what’s your errand?” If the anticipation of this meeting had filled Hal’s heart with foreboding, the reality was no less fear-compelling. Mr. Barriscale’s presence was imposing, his manner was forbidding. Stern-eyed, square-jawed, formidable in every aspect, he bore the appearance of a man ready to crush any one who opposed his wish or refused to bend to his will. But when Hal replied his voice was firm and his speech was without hesitation.