There's the figures," and he handed the slip to Jack.

"When is this payment to be made?" continued Jack, glancing at the slip.

"Why, when the money is due, of course," he cried in a louder key.
"Here's the contract--see--read it; then you'll know."

Jack ran his eye over the document until it fell on the payment clause.
This he read twice, weighing each word.

"It says at the monthly meeting of the Board of Trustees, does it not?"
he answered, smothering all trace of the relief the words brought him.

McGowan changed color. "Well, yes--but that ain't the way the payments
has always been made," he stammered out.

"And if I am right, the meeting takes place on Monday next?" continued
Jack in a decided tone, not noticing the interruption.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Well, then, Monday night, Mr. McGowan, either Mr., Minott or I will be
on hand. You must excuse me now. Mrs. Minott wants me, I think," and he
handed McGowan the contract and walked toward the door, where he stood
listening. Something was happening upstairs.

McGowan and his friend looked at each other in silence. The commotion
overhead only added to their discomfiture.

"Well, what do you think, Jim?" McGowan said at last in a subdued,
baffled voice.

"Well, there ain't no use thinkin', Mac. If it's writ that way, it's
writ that way; that's all there is to it--" and the two joined Jack
who had stepped into the hall, his eyes up the stairway as if he was
listening intensely.

"Then you say, Mr. Breen, that Mr. Minott will meet us at the Board
meeting on Monday?"

Jack was about to reply when he caught sight of the doctor, his hand
sliding rapidly down the stair-rail as he approached.

McGowan, fearing to be interrupted, repeated his question in a louder
voice:

"Then you say I'll see Mr. Minott on Monday?"

The doctor crossed to Jack's side. He was breathing heavily, his lips
quivering; he looked like a man who had received some sudden shock.

"Go up to Mrs. Minott," he gasped. "It's all over, Breen. He's dying. He
took the whole bottle."

At this instant an agonizing shriek cut the air. It was the voice of
Corinne.

CHAPTER XXVIII

No one suspected that the young architect had killed himself. Garry was
known to have suffered from insomnia, and was supposed to have taken an
overdose of chloral. The doctor so decided, and the doctor's word was
law in such MATTERS, and so there was no coroner's inquest. Then again,
it was also know