"Pop and Pill will leave town to-morrow," he muttered to himself, "and they'll keep out of the way until the storm blows over. This fellow will go to the house of Sowers, inform him of the robbery, a search will be made, and Ninety-One discovered in one room, and the corpse of Evelyn in the other. Just at that hour I'll happen to be passing by, and in the confusion I'll try to secure this youthful secretary of Old Sowers. I shall want him for the twenty-fifth of December. As for the OTHER, why, Frank must take care of him. Shall Ninety-One come to a hint of the murder?"--the Colonel paused and struck his forehead. "Head, you have never failed me, and will not fail me now!" He turned to Blossom, and in low whispers the twain arranged all the details of the affair. They conversed together there in the gloom until they perfectly understood each other, Blossom turning now and then to indulge in a quiet laugh, and the Colonel's dark eyes flashing with earnestness, and may be, with the hope of gratified revenge. At length they shook hands, and the Colonel approached the table: "Mr. Yorke, I have the honor to wish you a very good evening," said the Colonel, and after a polite bow, he departed. "I leave him with his serenaders," he muttered as he disappeared. "This murder off my hands, and the private secretary in my power, I think I will hold the trump card on the Twenty-fifth of December!" With this muttered exclamation he went down the back stairway. "Yorke, my genius!" cried Blossom, clapping the financier on the back, "if I don't have them $71,000 dollars before twenty-four hours, you may call me--you may call me,--most anything you please. By-the-bye, did you hear that howl? Good-night, Yorke." And he went down the back stairway. The financier, coughing for breath, (for the hand of Blossom had been somewhat emphatic), fixed his gold specs, and brushed his gray whiskers, and turning to Mr. Fetch, said gayly, "He looks as if he was on the right track; don't he, Fetch?" Fetch said he did; and presently he also retired down the back stairway, promising to see his Principal at an early hour on the morrow. "How they do roar!" he ejaculated, as he disappeared. Yorke was alone. He shifted and twisted uneasily in his chair. His little black eyes shone with peculiar luster. He sat for a long time buried in thought, and at last gave utterance to these words: "I think I'd better retire until the storm blows over, leaving Fetch to bring in my notes, and manage affairs. To what part of the world shall I go? Well,--w-e-ll!--Havana, yes, that's the word, Havana! But first I must see the result of this Van Huyden matter on the Twenty-fifth, and provide myself with a _companion_--a pleasant _companion_ to cheer me in my loneliness at Havana. Ah!" the man of money actually breathed an amorous sigh,--"_twelve to-night_,--THE TEMPLE!--that's the word."