He stopped in front of a mirror, startled at what he saw there. It was the face of a man not yet thirty, but apparently much older. The features were drawn and haggard, and his dark hair was plentifully streaked with gray. He looked like a man who had lived two lives in one. To-night his face frightened him. His eyes had a fixed stare like those of a man he had once seen in a madhouse. He wondered if men looked like that when they were about to be executed. Was not his own hour close at hand? He wondered why the clock was so noisy; it seemed to him that the ticks were louder than usual. He started suddenly and looked around fearfully. He thought he had heard a sound outside. He shuddered as he glanced toward the little drawer on the right-hand side of his desk, in which he knew there was a loaded revolver. If Alicia would only relent escape might yet be possible. If he did not hear from her it must be for to-night. One slight little pressure on the trigger and all would be over. Suddenly the bell of the telephone connecting the apartment with the main hall downstairs rang violently. Interrupted thus abruptly in the midst of his reflections, Underwood jumped forward, startled. His nerves were so unstrung that he was ever apprehensive of danger. With a tremulous hand, he took hold of the receiver and placed it to his ear. As he listened, his already pallid face turned whiter and the lines about his mouth tightened. He hesitated a moment before replying. Then, with an effort, he said: "Send him up." Dropping the receiver, he began to walk nervously up and down the room. The crisis had come sooner than he expected--exposure was at hand. This man Bennington was the manager of the firm of dealers whose goods he disposed of. He could not make restitution. Prosecution was inevitable. Disgrace and prison would follow. He could not stand it; he would rather kill himself. Trouble was very close at hand, that was certain. How could he get out of it? Pacing the floor, he bit his lips till the blood came. There was a sharp ring at the front door. Underwood opened it. As he recognized his visitor on the threshold, he exclaimed: "Why, Bennington, this is a surprise!" The manager entered awkwardly. He had the constrained air of a man who has come on an unpleasant errand, but wants to be as amiable as the circumstances will permit. "You didn't expect me, did you?" he began. Shutting the front door, Underwood led the way back into the sitting room, and making an effort to control his nerves, said: "Sit down, won't you?" But Mr. Bennington merely bowed stiffly. It was evident that he did not wish his call to be mistaken for a social visit. "I haven't time, thank you. To be frank, my mission is rather a delicate one, Mr. Underwood." Underwood laughed nervously. Affecting to misinterpret the other's meaning, he said: