rth of one
good action make what amends it can for a long list of evil ones."

"You really want to see the woman, then; enough to pay for it, I mean?"

"The reward which has been offered for news of the fate or whereabouts
of Jacqueline Japha, still stands good," was Mr. Sylvester's reply.

The excited stare with which the man received this announcement, slowly
subsided into his former subtle look.

"Well, well," said he, "we will see." The truth was, that he knew no
more than the other where this woman was to be found. "If I happen to
come across her in any of my wanderings, I shall know where to apply for
means to make her welcome. But that is not what at present concerns us.
Your nephew is losing ground with every passing minute. In a half-hour
more his future will be decided, unless you bid me order my lawyer to
delay the forwarding of that communication to Mr. Stuyvesant. In that
case--"

"I believe I have already made it plain to you that I have no intentions
of interfering with your action in this matter," quoth Mr. Sylvester,
turning slowly toward the door. "If you are determined to send your
statement, it must go, only--" And here he turned upon the bitterly
disappointed man with an aspect whose nobility the other was but little
calculated to appreciate--"only when you do so, be particular to state
that the person whose story you thus forward to a director of the
Madison Bank, is not Bertram Sylvester, the cashier, but Edward
Sylvester, his uncle, and the bank's president."

And the stately head bowed and the tall form was about to withdraw, when
Holt with an excited tremble that affected even his words, advanced and
seized Mr. Sylvester by the arm.

"His uncle!" cried he, "why that is what you--Great heaven!" he
exclaimed, falling back with an expression not unmixed with awe, "you
are the man and you have denounced yourself!" Then quickly, "Speak
again; let me hear your voice."

And Mr. Sylvester with a sad smile, repeated in a slow and meaning tone,
"It is but one little _fuss_ more!" then as the other cringed, added a
dignified, "Good evening, Mr. Holt," and passed swiftly across the room
towards the door.

What was it that stopped him half-way, and made him look back with such
a startled glance at the man he had left behind him? A smell of smoke in
the air, the faint yet unmistakable odor of burning wood, as though the
house were on fire, or--

Ha! the man himself has discerned it, is on his fee