So he was not to have even the consolation of knowing that no one but himself had been hurt. It would be on his soul that he had hurt her, too--cruelly, hopelessly hurt her. And he could not help her, only run away and leave her to face it alone. And Jonathan, his kind friend--the meaning of the grief on that homely face was plain. The cup of David's misery ran over. He fell forward on the desk, her desk, pillowing his head on his arms. "Esther!" As if summoned by the cry, another little imp took stand by David's ear. And his tongue was specious and honeyed, and he had the trick of making black seem white and gray a golden splendor. Why run away and leave her to face it alone? . . . He was there a long time. It grew dark. The street, deserted by its daylight toilers, grew quiet except for the tramping of an occasional heavy-footed watchman or policeman. David did not stir. He was slowly draining his bitter cup--and listening to the eloquent imp. Once to nearly every man comes an hour when he stands on a high mount and is shown the kingdom of his desire, to be his if he will--at a price. There David stood that evening. And he fell. He listened and looked too long. He did not haggle with his tempter over the price but agreed to pay, if only he might have his beautiful kingdom. He did not hear stealthy footsteps along the corridor, nor the rustling of cautiously drawn shades in Jonathan's office. The visitor, too, supposed that he had the building to himself. But he worked by the light of a dark-lantern and tiptoed instinctively. Very carefully, as his former cell-mate had taught him, he made his preparations, substituting a sixty- for a six-ampere fuse--which would give him, the old cracksman had said, "juice" enough to cut through the ribs of a war-ship--and clamping one strand of his extension wire to the safe door. This done, he unscrewed all the light bulbs from their sockets lest, when he turned the switch, a sudden glow through the shades arouse some prowling watchman's curiosity. Then he took up the other strand of his wire, to which was attached a carbon electrode, knelt on the floor and--gingerly, for so much juice suggested many possibilities to a novice--touched the carbon to the safe door. He drew back hastily, almost unnerved. The old cracksman had not warned him of that blinding flash or that sputtering, loud enough, so it seemed, to be heard a block away. But he remembered that Jonathan often kept money overnight in the safe. He forced himself to make the contact again.