[Illustration: J. G. BURBANK, _Attorney at Law._]

What transpired between him and that gentleman we will leave to the
surmises of the reader. After being closeted for an hour in a room whose
only furniture consisted of one or two green baize-covered tables, piled
with papers, and a book-case crowded with solid-looking volumes, our friend
turned his thoughtful face toward the office of Messrs. Flint & Snarle.

Mr. Flint looked up from his writing, and found Edward Walters quietly
seated beside him. They had not met since the interview we described at Mr.
Flint's house; and the captain's presence at the present time was not a
thing to be desired by Mr. Flint. The visit looked ominous. Whatever doubts
he entertained respecting its object were immediately dispelled.

"I read the arrest in yesterday's paper," said Walters.

Flint, with an effort, went on writing.

"And this morning I visited the boy in his cell."

"Well!" cried Flint, nervously.

"And I found my son, John Flint!"

Mr. Flint found himself cornered, and, like a rat or any small animal, he
grew cowardly desperate.

"You found a thief, sir--a miserable thief."

We will do Mr. Flint the justice to say that he considered Mortimer in that
light.

"I am not sure of that," was the calm reply. "A man may be in prison, and
yet be no felon; and I should doubt the guilt of any man whom _you_
persecuted. But I did not come here to quarrel. The boy is my son, and he
must be released."

"_Must_ be, Mr. Walters!"

"I think I said so."

Flint regarded him with his cold, cynical smile.

"John Flint, there is nothing I would not do to serve the boy. There is
nothing I will not do to crush you if you persist in convicting him. I do
not know that he is innocent--I do not know that he is worthy of my love. I
only know that he is my child."

There was an agony in the tone with which these words were spoken that was
music to Mr. Flint. He smiled that undertaker's smile of his.

"The law must take its course," he said. "It is impossible to stop
_that_."

"Not so. The examination takes place this afternoon. If you do not appear
against him, Mortimer will be discharged. You have forgotten that I have
_the letter_."

"Stop!" cried Flint, as Walters turned to the door, and he assumed his
usual, fawning, hypocritical air.

"If I do as you wish, what then?"

"You shall have the letter."

"What assurance have I of that?"

"My word."

"Is that all?" said Fli