The man looked embarrassed. “Excuse me, sir, but that’s just what I’d rather you wouldn’t do. Mr. Sylvester is always very busy and he might think I wished to annoy him about some matters of my own, sir, as indeed I have not been above doing at odd times. If you would ring when he comes in, that is all I ask.” Bertram thought this a strange request, but seeing the man so anxious, gave the required promise, and the janitor hurried off. “Curious!” muttered Bertram. “Can anything be wrong?” And he glanced about him with some curiosity as he went to his desk. But every one was at his post as usual and the countenances of all were equally undisturbed. It was a busy morning and in the rush of various matters Bertram forgot the entire occurrence. But it was presently recalled to him by hearing some one remark, “Mr. Sylvester is late to-day,” and looking up from some papers he was considering, he found it was a full hour after the time at which his uncle was in the habit of appearing. Just then he caught still another sight of the protruding eyes of Hopgood staring in upon him from the half-opened door at the end of the bank. “The fellow’s getting impatient,” thought he, and experienced a vague feeling of uneasiness. Another half hour passed. “What can have detained Mr. Sylvester?” cried Mr. Wheelock the cashier, hastily approaching Bertram. “There is to be an important meeting of the Directors to-day, and some of the gentlemen are already coming in. Mr. Sylvester is not accustomed to keep us waiting.” “I don’t know, I am sure,” returned Bertram, remembering with an accession of uneasiness, the abruptness with which his uncle had left the entertainment the evening before. “Shall I telegraph to the house?” “No, that is not necessary. Besides Folger says he passed him on Broadway this morning.” “Going down street with a valise in his hand,” that gentlemen quietly put in. Folger was the teller. “He was looking very pale and didn’t see me when I nodded.” “What time was that?” asked Bertram. “About twelve; when I went out to lunch.” A quick gasp sounded at their side, followed by a hurried cough. Turning, Bertram encountered for the fifth time the eyes of Hopgood. He had entered unperceived by the small door that separated the inner inclosure from the outer, and was now standing very close to them, eying with side-long looks the safe at their back, the faces of the gentleman speaking, yes, and even the countenances of the clerks, as they bent busily over their books. “Did you ring, sir?” asked he, catching Bertram’s look of displeasure. “No.” The man seemed to feel the rebuke implied in this short response, and ambled softly away. But in another moment he was stopped by Bertram. “What is the matter with you to-day, Hopgood? Can you have anything of real importance on your mind; anything connected with my uncle?”