They were just within the door of the small room, and the great lobby of the hotel, into which the door opened, was crowded with guests recently returned from the races. Mr. Hyer had his left hand upon Dick’s right sleeve, as though to emphasize his words, and his right hand still held the fat roll of notes. “So good-night, Mr. Sumner.” While the gambler was uttering the words Dick felt a pressure upon his vest pocket, and instinctively clapped his hand upon the spot. There was the roll of notes stuck endwise into his pocket, and Mr. Hyer had disappeared in the crowd. It was plain enough what that meant. Hyer had forced the money upon him, against his will, in the hope of influencing his report. For a second or two Dick was dazed, and the righteous anger showed in every feature of his face. He looked anxiously in every direction, but the gambler had vanished utterly. “Mr. Hyer!” he called. Of course there was no answer; but several gentlemen idling near by looked at Dick in surprise to see any one in such an excited state in that abode of luxury and pleasure. Dick took the roll of notes from his pocket and held it in his hand. To throw it upon the table and leave it there was his first impulse; but a second’s consideration showed him that that would be foolish. Some one would of course pick it up, and he would have no proof that he had not kept it. “If only there was some one with me!” he said to himself. But there was no one, and he must make his own way out of the difficulty. He stepped back into the little room and sat down in his old chair, still holding the roll in his hand, for he would not have it in his pocket. Never had a roll of money looked so utterly detestable to him before; it was an unclean thing, and he loathed it. For a moment he sat there bending over the table, torn with anger and doubt; not doubt whether he should keep the money, but how he should rid himself of it. It would not have been Dick Sumner, however, to remain in such a condition long. “Of course!” he exclaimed, straightening up in his chair, “it is plain enough what I must do; but I declare I was so mad for a minute that I didn’t know what I was about. I must go to some respectable person and tell him the whole story, and put the money in his hands to be returned to that smooth-tongued fellow. Mr. Clair is my man--Mr. Clair, the proprietor of the hotel. It’s fortunate I met him this morning and had a talk with him.” Dick made his way across the crowded lobby to Mr. Clair’s office, still carrying the roll in his hand and holding his hand far out from his body; he would not have the money near him. The door was partly open and he stepped inside. “Mr. Clair, can I speak with you a moment?” he asked. “Certainly. Come in and take a chair. Why, what is wrong? You look ill, Mr. Sumner;” and he arose from his chair and helped Dick into a comfortable seat.