'Ha, ha, my dear boy, it is you, is it?' cried Mr. Jacobs, with unctuous familiarity. 'Looking after business--always got an eye to the dollars--come down to see how the places are going? Well, you need not look so anxious about it; we're going right ahead, we are, this time.' 'It wasn't for that, Jacobs,' said Bryan, with a faint smile. 'I want to look at the sheet for last night. I want to see what names certain places were taken in.' 'O, that's the game, is it?' said Mr. Jacobs, handing him the sheet required. 'Want to see whether any of your old flames came to welcome you back. Hallo! what's the matter?' he cried, as Duval uttered a short groan. 'Nothing,' said Bryan; 'nothing at all. As Jacobs looked up at him he saw his finger resting motionless on a certain portion of the box sheet. 'Thank you, I won't intrude upon you any more. Good-morning, Jacobs;' and he sauntered off. 'Mrs. Alston E. Griswold,' murmured Jacobs to himself, reading the name underneath which Bryan's finger had been fixed. 'That's it; there's the mark of his black glove on the sheet now. Alston Griswold? Why, that's the name of one of your Wall-street customers, with a fine up-town house and--ah, Bryan, my boy, your propensities will get you into mischief one of these days.' 'All doubt is at an end now,' said Bryan, as he walked up to the hotel, 'and Clara was right. The case seems to me even darker and worse than she seems to think at present. It is lucky that she has a head upon her shoulders, for I shall have to take her into consultation.' Thereupon he despatched an elderly Irishman to Miss Montressor's room, with a message intimating his desire to be allowed access to her as soon as possible. Bryan Duval's messenger returned with an affirmatory answer to his inquiry whether Miss Montressor could let him see her; they had not yet met on that morning, and she was in a high state of expectation of what the interview might bring forth.