The reader may wonder what was the trouble--why Mr Ferguson could not stalk out and brusquely dispose of his foe; but then the reader has not employed Master Bean for a month. Mr Ferguson had, and his nerve had broken. A slight cough penetrated the door between the two offices. Mr Ferguson rose and grabbed his hat. Perhaps a sudden rush--he shot out with the tense concentration of one moving towards the refreshment-room at a station where the train stops three minutes. 'Good evening, sir!' was the watcher's view-hallo. 'Ah, Bean,' said Mr Ferguson, flitting rapidly, 'you still here? I thought you had gone. I'm afraid I cannot stop now. Some other time--' He was almost through. 'I fear, sir, that you will be unable to get out,' said Master Bean, sympathetically. 'The building is locked up.' Men who have been hit by bullets say the first sensation is merely a sort of dull shock. So it was with Mr Ferguson. He stopped in his tracks and stared. 'The porter closes the door at seven o'clock punctually, sir. It is now nearly twenty minutes after the hour.' Mr Ferguson's brain was still in the numbed stage. 'Closes the door?' he said. 'Yes, sir.' 'Then how are we to get out?' 'I fear we cannot get out, sir.' Mr Ferguson digested this. 'I am no longer in your employment, sir,' said Master Bean, respectfully, 'but I hope that in the circumstances you will permit me to remain here during the night.' 'During the night!' 'It would enable me to sleep more comfortably than on the stairs.' 'But we can't stop here all night,' said Mr Ferguson, feebly. He had anticipated an unpleasant five minutes in Master Bean's company. Imagination boggled at the thought of an unpleasant thirteen hours. He collapsed into a chair. 'I called,' said Master Bean, shelving the trivial subject of the prospective vigil, 'in the hope that I might persuade you, sir, to reconsider your decision in regard to my dismissal. I can assure you, sir, that I am extremely anxious to give satisfaction. If you would take me back and inform me how I have fallen short, I would endeavour to improve, I--' 'We can't stop here all night,' interrupted Mr Ferguson, bounding from his chair and beginning to pace the floor. 'Without presumption, sir, I feel that if you were to give me another chance I should work to your satisfaction. I should endeavour--' Mr Ferguson stared at him in dumb horror. He had a momentary vision of a sleepless night spent in listening to a nicely-polished speech for the defence. He was seized with a mad desire for flight. He could not leave the building, but he must get away somewhere and think. He dashed from the room and raced up the dark stairs. And as he arrived at the next floor his eye was caught by a thin pencil of light which proceeded from a door on the left.