Underwood stopped short. "To-morrow," he echoed faintly. "Yes," said Bennington grimly. "You might as well understand the situation thoroughly. The game's up. The firm has been watching you for some time. When you tried to sell these things to old Defries for one-quarter their real value he instantly recognized where they came from. He telephoned straight to our place. You've been shadowed by detectives ever since. There's a man outside watching this place now." "My God!" exclaimed Underwood. "Why are they hounding me like this?" Approaching Bennington quickly, he grasped his hand. "Bennington," he said earnestly, "you and I've always been on the square. Can't you tell them it's all right? Can't you get them to give me time?" Before the manager could reply the telephone bell rang sharply. Underwood started. An expression of fear came over his face. Perhaps the firm had already sworn out a warrant for his arrest. He picked up the receiver to answer the call. "What name is that?" he demanded over the telephone. The name was repeated and with a gesture of relief he exclaimed: "Howard Jeffries!--what on earth does he want? I can't see him. Tell him I'm----" Bennington took his hat and turned to go: "Well, I must be off." "Don't go," exclaimed Underwood, as he hung up the receiver mechanically. "It's only that infernal ass Howard Jeffries!" "I must," said the manager. As he went toward the door he made a close scrutiny of the walls as if searching for something that was not there. Stopping short, he said: "I don't see the Velasquez." "No--no," stammered Underwood nervously. "It's out--out on probation. Oh, it's all right. I can account for everything." Mr. Bennington continued his inspection. "I don't see the Gobelin tapestry," he said laconically. "Oh, that's all right, too, if they'll only give me time," he cried desperately. "Good God, you don't know what it means to me, Bennington! The position I've made for myself will be swept away and----" Mr. Bennington remained distant and unsympathetic and Underwood threw himself into a chair with a gesture of disgust. "Sometimes I think I don't care what happens," he exclaimed. "Things haven't been going my way lately. I don't care a hang whether school keeps or not. If they drive me to the wall I'll do something desperate. I'll----" A ring at the front door bell interrupted him. "Who can that be?" he exclaimed startled. He looked closely at his companion, as if trying to read in his face if he were deceiving him. "Probably your friend of the telephone," suggested Bennington. Underwood opened the door and Howard entered jauntily. "Hello, fellers, how goes it?" was his jocular greeting.