every one and everything.
Mac was somewhere out of sight in the private offices. The clerks were
gossiping together, and that fact to me was suspicious. Then, to my
alarm, a bank clerk entered from the street with an eagle-eyed man, a
Hebrew, evidently, of about 45 years of age. Both passed hurriedly into
the private office, leaving me in an agony of suspense. My only relief
at that moment was the thought that George and myself had not as yet
compromised ourselves, and could, in the event of Mac's arrest, manage
to save him, either by bribery or a rescue.

Without appearing to do so, I watched that dingy, mottled door leading
into the private office until every crack and seam in it was
photographed indelibly on my brain.

In the trying periods of one's life, when the heart and soul are on the
rack, how strangely trifling details of the objects about one will be
noticed and remembered. It seems some cell of the brain, quite separate
from the cell of feeling and sensation, works calmly and steadily on,
photographing the material of one's surroundings.

I can never forget a flower worn by a lady guest at my table, when, in
the midst of enjoyment and surrounded by friends, the hand of the law in
the form of a burly detective was laid on me in Cuba. In all the misery
and humiliation of that scene I remember the peculiar color of the wood
of a cigar box standing on the sideboard. Doubtless each of my readers
will recall some similar phenomenon in his own life.

At last, unable to endure the suspense, above all, the uncertainty, I
went to the little door, and, opening it, looked in. To my intense
relief I saw Mac sitting there apparently talking unconcernedly with
Braga, the manager, and the Hebrew. As I had not attracted attention I
closed the door, went out in the street and gave George the pre-arranged
signal that all was well. Just then our partner appeared but with
telltale face. It was flushed with chagrin and vexation, and there was
gone from the contour of his body that indescribable port that tells,
better than words, of confidence and victory.

We went by different routes to our rendezvous, and I will leave it to
the imagination of my readers to picture our state of mind as we
listened to his recital of woe--the tale of Priam's Troy over again.

Mac had been cordially received by the manager, and had told him he
would require L20,000 the next day; would he please have it ready? The
manager replied that he did