William Street legal cave, the ladies driving or chasing
the bubble pleasure.

Around the library table were gathered a trinity of souls all eager
to avenge the unrequited death of Randall Clayton. The tired-out
executors were now on their way to Detroit, sharing with the
puzzled journals and the baffled police the hope that "something
would finally turn up in the Clayton mystery."

Down in the Western Trading Company's office, the urbane Robert Wade,
now shining out again in full plumage, explained to the occasional
disgruntled stockholder that the Fidelity Company had paid in their
fifty thousand dollars; that many of the largest cheques had been
stopped, and that the Worthington Estate had nobly offered to recoup
the company for the final deficiency from the extra fall dividend
on their own stock, which was to gladden all hearts.

"Poor Hugh Worthington!" sighed Wade. "If he had only lived to see
his cherished plan for freight control in operation. Our stock
has risen fifty-five points on the new deal. Mr. Ferris? Ah! His
retirement was solely due to ill-health. He has resumed his private
consulting practice. But, Clayton! there was an irreparable loss!
Poor boy! Some momentary imprudence must have exposed him. Thugs!
Thugs! Here in New York, in broad day light! It is monstrous!"

And so the ruffled financial waters closed smoothly over the
forgotten grave of the murdered cashier. It was dimly supposed
that the "sleuth hounds" of the law were still peering about with
their fabled "argus eyes."

But the two men gazing upon Alice Worthington's serene and
steadfast face on this August afternoon wondered at the fervor of
her high-souled thirst for vengeance.

The broad, Greek forehead, the clearly-shining blue eyes, the firm,
resolute lips, her voice throbbing with earnestness, all spoke of
a Venus armed with Minerva's panoply.

William Atwater's dark, impassioned face was lit with a fiery
enthusiasm, as he said, "Miss Alice, we have met here to open the
first of the seven seals.

"Witherspoon and I have recognized that you have not unfolded
to Stillwell, or even the executors, all the last, sacred wishes
of your father. We feel that you have knowledge, suspicions, and
inferences, all your own. Now, to us, the last, the nearest friends
of Clayton, your carte blanche to follow this up means everything.
But we must have your directing mind with us; we need absolute secrecy,
the use of money, and your aid.