was coming. So
they waited. The end of McQuade's cigar waxed and waned according to
his inhalations. These inhalations were not quickly made, as by a man
whose heart is beating with excitement; they were slow and regular, it
might be said, contemplative. John's gaze never left the end of that
cigar.

The lights in the tall building opposite began to twinkle from window
to window. Warrington slipped off the table and pulled down the
curtains. McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated the
coal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth.

Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outer
office opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington was
not Bolles.

"Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, have
a chair." Warrington was delighted.

Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. On
entering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down,
disturbed and mystified.

"What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know.

"Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presented
themselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Have
a cigar."

Morrissy took the proffered weed, but he did not light it. He turned
it round and round in his teeth and chewed it. Well, so long as the
boss did not seem alarmed, the trouble could not be serious. Yet he
was not over-confident of Bennington's lowering face.

"Been a fine day," said Morrissy, at haphazard.

"Yes, but there's going to be a storm to-night." Warrington resumed
his position on the table.

Conversation died. And then Bolles came in. At the sight of Bennington
he recoiled.

"Come in, come in!" said McQuade. "Mr. Warrington will offer you a
chair," facetiously.

"Yes, Bolles, sit down."

"Well, gentlemen, here's a quorum;" and McQuade began to rock in his
chair. Three against two; that would do very well.

"I will go at once at the matter in hand. Those letters, John."
Warrington held out his hand. "I'll read one to you, McQuade." He read
slowly and distinctly.

"What the hell is this?" said Morrissy.

"It's up to Mr. Warrington to explain." McQuade grinned. That grin,
however, nearly cost him his life.

"John, remember your promise!" cried Warrington.

John sat down, seized with a species of vertigo.

"McQuade, you wrote that."

"Me? You're crazy!"

"Not at all. Let me advise you. The next time you put your hand to
anonymous letters, ex