Tales of Fantasy and Fact

by Brander Matthews

  THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE

  I

  The telegraph messenger looked again at the address on the envelope inhis hand, and then scanned the house before which he was standing. Itwas an old-fashioned building of brick, two stories high, with an atticabove; and it stood in an old-fashioned part of lower New York, notfar from the East River. Over the wide archway there was a smallweather-worn sign, "Ramapo Steel and Iron Works;" and over the smallerdoor alongside was a still smaller sign, "Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co."

  When the messenger-boy had made out the name, he opened this smallerdoor and entered the long, narrow store. Its sides and walls werecovered with bins and racks containing sample steel rails and ironbeams, and coils of wire of various sizes. Down at the end of the storewere desks where several clerks and book-keepers were at work.

  As the messenger drew near, a red-headed office-boy blocked thepassage, saying, somewhat aggressively, "Well?"

  "Got a telegram for Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.," the messengerexplained, pugnaciously thrusting himself forward.

  "In there!" the office-boy returned, jerking his thumb over hisshoulder towards the extreme end of the building, an extension, roofedwith glass and separated by a glass screen from the space where theclerks were at work.

  The messenger pushed open the glazed door of this private office, abell jingled over his head, and the three occupants of the room lookedup.

  "Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.?" said the messenger, interrogatively,holding out the yellow envelope.

  "Yes," responded Mr. Whittier, a tall, handsome old gentleman, takingthe telegram. "You sign, Paul."

  The youngest of the three, looking like his father, took themessenger's book, and, glancing at an old-fashioned clock which stoodin the corner, he wrote the name of the firm and the hour of delivery.He was watching the messenger go out. His attention was suddenly calledto subjects of more importance by a sharp exclamation from his father.

  "Well, well, well," said the elder Whittier with his eyes fixed on thetelegram he had just read. "This is very strange--very strange indeed!"

  "What's strange?" asked the third occupant of the office, Mr.Wheatcroft, a short, stout, irascible-looking man with a shock ofgrizzly hair.

  For all answer Mr. Whittier handed to Mr. Wheatcroft the thin slip ofpaper.

  No sooner had the junior partner read the paper than he seemed angrierthan was usual with him.

  "Strange!" he cried. "I should think it was strange! confoundedlystrange--and deuced unpleasant, too."

  "May I see what it is that's so very strange?" asked Paul, picking upthe despatch.

  "Of course you may see it," growled Mr. Wheatcroft; "and let us seewhat you can make of it."

  The young man read the message aloud: "Deal off. Can get quarter centbetter terms. Carkendale."

  Then he read it again to himself. At last he said, "I confess I don'tsee anything so very mysterious in that. We've lost a contract, Isuppose; but that must have happened lots of times before, hasn't it?"

  "It's happened twice before, this fall," returned Mr. Wheatcroft,fiercely, "after our bid had been practically accepted and just beforethe signing of the final contract!"

  "Let me explain, Wheatcroft," interrupted the elder Whittier, gently."You must not expect my son to understand the ins and outs of thisbusiness as we do. Besides, he has only been in the office ten days."

  "I don't expect him to understand," growled Wheatcroft. "How could he?I don't understand it myself!"

  "Close that door, Paul," said Mr. Whittier. "I don't want any of theclerks to know what we are talking about. Here are the facts in thecase, and I think you will admit that they are certainly curious: Twicethis fall, and now a third time, we have been the lowest bidders forimportant orders, and yet, just before our bid was formally accepted,somebody has cut under us by a fraction of a cent and got the job.First we thought we were going to get the building of the BaratariaCentral's bridge over the Little Makintosh River, but in the end it wasthe Tuxedo Steel Company that got the contract. Then there was theorder for the fifty thousand miles of wire for the Trans-continentalTelegraph; we made an extraordinarily low estimate on that. We wantedthe contract, and we threw off, not only our profit, but evenallowances for office expenses; and yet five minutes before the lastbid had to be in, the Tuxedo Company put in an offer only a hundred andtwenty-five dollars less than ours. Now comes the telegram to-day. TheMethuselah Life Insurance Company is going to put up a big building; wewere asked to estimate on the steel framework. We wanted thatwork--times are hard and there is little doing, as you know, and wemust get work for our men if we can. We meant to have this contract ifwe could. We offered to do it at what was really actual cost ofmanufacture--without profit, first of all, and then without any chargeat all for office expenses, for interest on capital, for depreciationof plant. The vice-president of the Methuselah, the one who attends toall their real estate, is Mr. Carkendale. He told me yesterday that ourbid was very low, and that we were certain to get the contract. And nowhe sends me this." Mr. Whittier picked up the telegram again.

  "But if we were going to do it at actual cost of manufacture," said theyoung man, "and somebody else underbids us, isn't somebody else losingmoney on the job?"

  "That's no sort of satisfaction to our men," retorted Mr. Wheatcroft,cooking himself before the fire. "Somebody else--confound him!--will beable to keep his men together and to give them the wages we want forour men. Do you think somebody else is the Tuxedo Company again?"

  "What of it?" asked Mr. Whittier. "Surely you don't suppose----"

  "Yes, I do," interrupted Mr. Wheatcroft, swiftly. "I do, indeed. Ihaven't been in this business thirty years for nothing. I know howhungry we get at all times for a big, fat contract; and I know we wouldany of us give a hundred dollars to the man who could tell us what ourchief rival has bid. It would be the cheapest purchase of the year,too."

  "Come, come, Wheatcroft," said the elder Whittier; "you know we'venever done anything of that sort yet, and I think you and I are too oldto be tempted now."

  "Nothing of the sort," snorted the fiery little man; "I'm open totemptation this very moment. If I could know what the Tuxedo people aregoing to bid on the new steel rails of the Springfield and Athens, I'dgive a thousand dollars."

  "If I understand you, Mr. Wheatcroft," Paul Whittier asked, "you aresuggesting that there has been something done that is not fair?"

  "That's just what I mean," Mr. Wheatcroft declared, vehemently.

  "Do you mean to say that the Tuxedo people have somehow been madeacquainted with our bids?" asked the young man.

  "That's what I'm thinking now," was the sharp answer. "I can't think ofanything else. For two months we haven't been successful in getting asingle one of the big contracts. We've had our share of the littlethings, of course, but they don't amount to much. The big things thatwe really wanted have slipped through our fingers. We've lost them bythe skin of our teeth every time. That isn't accident, is it? Of coursenot! Then there's only one explanation--there's a leak in this officesomewhere."

  "You don't suspect any of the clerks, do you, Mr. Wheatcroft?" askedthe elder Whittier, sadly.

  "I don't suspect anybody in particular," returned the junior partner,brushing his hair up the wrong way; "and I suspect everybody ingeneral. I haven't an idea who it is, but it's somebody! It must besomebody--and if it is somebody, I'll do my best to get that somebodyinto the clutches of the law."

  "Who makes up the bids on these important contracts?" asked Paul.

  "Wheatcroft and I," answered his father. "The specifications areforwarded to the works, and the engineers make their estimates of theactual cost of labor and material. These estimates are sent to us here,and we add whatever we think best for interest, and for expenses, forwear and tear, and for profit."

  "Who writes the letters making the offer--the one with actual figures Imean?" the son continued.

  "I do," the elder Whittier explained; "I have always done it."

  "You don't di
ctate them to a typewriter?" Paul pursued.

  "Certainly not," the father responded; "I write them with my own hand,and, what's more, I take the press-copy myself, and there is a specialletter-book for such things. This letter-book is always kept in thesafe in this office; in fact, I can say that this particularletter-book never leaves my hands except to go into that safe. And, asyou know, nobody has access to that safe except Wheatcroft and me."

  "And the Major," corrected the junior partner.

  "No," Mr. Whittier explained, "Van Zandt has no need to go there now."

  "But he used to," Mr. Wheatcroft persisted.

  "He did once," the senior partner returned; "but when we bought thosenew safes outside there in the main office, there was no longer anyneed for the chief book-keeper to go to this smaller safe; and so, lastmonth--it was while you were away, Wheatcroft--Van Zandt came in hereone afternoon, and said that, as he never had occasion to go to thissafe, he would rather not have the responsibility of knowing thecombination. I told him we had perfect confidence in him."

  "I should think so!" broke in the explosive Wheatcroft. "The Major hasbeen with us for thirty years now. I'd suspect myself of petty larcenyas soon as him."

  "As I said," continued the elder Whittier; "I told him that we trustedhim perfectly, of course. But he urged me, and to please him I changedthe combination of this safe that afternoon. You will remember,Wheatcroft, that I gave you the new word the day you came back."

  "Yes, I remember," said Mr. Wheatcroft. "But I don't see why the Majordid not want to know how to open that safe. Perhaps he is beginning tofeel his years now. He must be sixty, the Major; and I've been thinkingfor some time that he looks worn."

  "I noticed the change in him," Paul remarked, "the first day I cameinto the office. He seemed ten years older than he was last winter."

  "Perhaps his wound troubles him again," suggested Mr. Whittier."Whatever the reason, it is at his own request that he is now ignorantof the combination. No one knows that but Wheatcroft and I. The lettersthemselves I wrote myself, and copied myself, and put them myself inthe envelopes I directed myself. I don't recall mailing them myself,but I may have done that too. So you see that there can't be anyfoundation for your belief, Wheatcroft, that somebody had access to ourbids."

  "I can't believe anything else!" cried Wheatcroft, impulsively. "Idon't know how it was done--I'm not a detective--but it was donesomehow. And if it was done, it was done by somebody! And what I'd liketo do is to catch that somebody in the act--that's all! I'd make it hotfor him!"

  "You would like to have him out at the Ramapo Works," said Paul,smiling at the little man's violence, "and put him under thesteam-hammer?"

  "Yes, I would," responded Mr. Wheatcroft. "I would indeed! Putting aman under a steam-hammer may seem a cruel punishment, but I think itwould cure the fellow of any taste for prying into our business in thefuture."

  "I think it would get him out of the habit of living," the elderWhittier said, as the tall clock in the corner struck one. "But don'tlet's be so brutal. Let's go to lunch and talk the matter over quietly.I don't agree with your suspicion, Wheatcroft, but there may besomething in it."

  Five minutes later Mr. Whittier, Mr. Wheatcroft, and the only son ofthe senior partner left the glass-framed private office, and, walkingleisurely through the long store, passed into the street.

  They did not notice that the old book-keeper, Major Van Zandt, whosehigh desk was so placed that he could overlook the private office, hadbeen watching them ever since the messenger had delivered the despatch.He could not read the telegram, he could not hear the comments, but hecould see every movement and every gesture and every expression. Hegazed from one speaker to the other almost as though he were able tofollow the course of the discussion; and when the three members of thefirm walked past his desk, he found himself staring at them as if in avain effort to read on their faces the secret of the course of actionthey had resolved upon.

  II

  After luncheon, as it happened, both the senior and the junior partnerof Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had to attend meetings, and they wenttheir several ways, leaving Paul to return to the office alone.

  When he came opposite to the house which bore the weather-beaten signof the firm he stood still for a moment, and looked across with mingledpride and affection. The building was old-fashioned--so old-fashioned,indeed, that only a long-established firm could afford to occupy it. Itwas Paul Whittier's great-grandfather who had founded the Ramapo Works.There had been cast the cannon for many of the ships of the littleAmerican navy that gave so good an account of itself in the war of1812. Again, in 1848, had the house of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co.--thepresent Mr. Wheatcroft's father having been taken into partnership byPaul's grandfather--been able to be of service to the government of theUnited States. All through the four years that followed the firing onthe flag in 1861 the Ramapo Works had been run day and night. Whenpeace came at last and the people had leisure to expand, a large shareof the rails needed by the new overland roads which were to bind theEast and West together in iron bonds had been rolled by Whittier,Wheatcroft & Co. Of late years, as Paul knew, the old firm seemed tohave lost some of its early energy, and, having young and vigorouscompetitors, it had barely held its own.

  That the Ramapo Works should once more take the lead was Paul Whittier'ssolemn purpose, and to this end he had been carefully trained. He wasnow a young man of twenty-five, a tall, handsome fellow, with a fullmustache over his firm mouth, and with clear, quick eyes below hiscurly brown hair. He had spent four years in college, carrying offhonors in mathematics, was popular with his classmates, who made himclass poet, and in his senior year he was elected president of thecollege photographic society. He had gone to a technological institute,where he had made himself master of the theory and practice ofmetallurgy. After a year of travel in Europe, where he had investigatedall the important steel and iron works he could get into, he had comehome to take a desk in the office.

  It was only for a moment that he stood on the sidewalk opposite,looking at the old building. Then he threw away his cigarette and wentover. Instead of entering the long store he walked down the alleywayleft open for the heavy wagons. When he came opposite to the privateoffice in the rear of the store he examined the doors and the windowscarefully, to see if he could detect any means of ingress other thanthose open to everybody.

  There was no door from the private office into the alleyway or into theyard. There was a door from the alleyway into the store, opposite tothe desks of the clerks, and within a few feet of the door leading fromthe store into the private office.

  Paul passed through this entrance, and found himself face to face withthe old book-keeper, Van Zandt, who was following all his movementswith a questioning gaze.

  "Good-afternoon, Major," said Paul, pleasantly. "Have you been out foryour lunch yet?"

  "I always get my dinner at noon," the book-keeper gruffly answered,returning to his books.

  As Paul walked on he could not but think that the Major's manner wasungracious. And the young man remembered how cheerful the old man hadbeen, and how courteous always, when the son of the senior partner,while still a school-boy, used to come to the office on Saturdays.

  Paul had always delighted in the office, and the store, and the yardbehind, and he had spent many a holiday there, and Major Van Zandt hadalways been glad to see him, and had willingly answered his myriadquestions.

  Paul wondered why the book-keeper's manner was now so different. VanZandt was older, but he was not so very old, not more than sixty, andold age in itself is not sufficient to make a man surly and to sour histemper. That the Major had had trouble in his family was well known.His wife had been flighty and foolish, and it was believed that she hadrun away from him; and his only son was a wild lad, who had beenemployed by Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co., out of regard for the father,and who had disgraced himself beyond forgiveness. Paul recalled vaguelythat the young fellow had gone West somewhere, and had been shot in amining-camp after a dr
unken brawl in a gambling-house.

  As Paul entered the private office he found the porter there, puttingcoal on the fire.

  Stepping back to close the glass door behind him, that they might bealone, he said:

  "Mike, who shuts up the office at night?"

  "Sure I do, Mr. Paul," was the prompt reply.

  "And you open it in the morning?" the young man asked.

  "I do that!" Mike responded.

  "Do you see that these windows are always fastened on the inside?" wasthe next query.

  "Yes, Mr. Paul," the porter replied.

  "Well," and the inquirer hesitated briefly before putting thisquestion, "have you found any of these windows unfastened any morninglately when you came here?"

  "And how did you know that?" Mike returned, in surprise.

  "What morning was it?" asked Paul, pushing his advantage.

  "It was last Monday mornin', Mr. Paul," the porter explained, "an' howit was I dunno, for I had every wan of them windows tight on Saturdaynight, an' Monday mornin' one of them was unfastened whin I wint toopen it to let a bit of air into the office here."

  "You sleep here always, don't you?" Paul proceeded.

  "I've slept here ivery night for three years now come Thanksgivin',"Mike replied. "I've the whole top of the house to myself. It's anilligant apartment I have there, Mr. Paul."

  "Who was here Sunday?" was the next question.

  "Sure nobody was here at all," responded the porter, "barrin' they camewhile I took me a bit of a walk after dinner. An' they couldn't havegot in anyway, for I lock up always, and I wasn't gone for an hour, ormaybe an hour an' a half."

  "I hope you will be very careful hereafter," said Paul.

  "I will that," promised Mike, "an' I am careful now always."

  The porter took up the coal-scuttle, and then he turned to Paul.

  "How was it ye knew that the winder was not fastened that mornin'?" heasked.

  "How did I know?" repeated the young man. "Oh, a little bird told me."

  When Mike had left the office Paul took a chair before the fire andlighted a cigar. For half an hour he sat silently thinking.

  He came to the conclusion that Mr. Wheatcroft was right in hissuspicion. Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had lost important contractsbecause of underbidding, due to knowledge surreptitiously obtained. Hebelieved that some one had got into the store on Sunday while Mike wastaking a walk, and that this somebody had somehow opened the safe.There never was any money in that private safe; it was intended tocontain only important papers. It did contain the letter-book of thefirm's bids, and this is what was wanted by the man who had got intothe office, and who had let himself in by the window, leaving itunfastened behind him. How this man had got in, and why he did not getout by the way he entered, how he came to be able to open the privatesafe, the combination of which was known only to the twopartners--these were questions for which Paul Whittier had no answer.

  What grieved him when he had come to the conclusion was that thethief--for such the house-breaker was in reality--was probably one ofthe men in the employ of the firm. It seemed to him almost certain thatthe man who had broken in knew all the ins and outs of the office. Andhow could this knowledge have been obtained except by an employee? Paulwas well acquainted with the clerks in the outer office. There werefive of them, including the old book-keeper, and although none of themhad been with the firm as long as the Major, no one of them had beenthere less than ten years. Paul did not know which one to suspect.There was, in fact, no reason to suspect any particular clerk. And yetthat one of the five men in the main office on the other side of theglass partition within twenty feet of him--that one of those was theguilty man Paul did not doubt.

  And therefore it seemed to him not so important to prevent the thingfrom happening again as it was to catch the man who had done it. Thethief once caught, it would be easy thereafter for the firm to takeunusual precautions. But the first thing to do was to catch the thief.He had come and gone, and left no trail. But he must have visited theoffice at least three times in the past few weeks, since the firm hadlost three important contracts. Probably he had been there oftener thanthree times. Certainly he would come again. Sooner or later he wouldcome once too often. All that needed to be done was to set a trap forhim.

  While Paul was sitting quietly in the private office, smoking a cigarwith all his mental faculties at their highest tension, the clock inthe corner suddenly struck three.

  Paul swiftly swung around in his chair and looked at it. An oldeight-day clock it was, which not only told the time of the day, butpretended, also, to supply miscellaneous astronomical information. Itstood by itself in the corner.

  For a moment after it struck Paul stared at it with a fixed gaze, asthough he did not see what he was looking at. Then a light came intohis eyes and a smile flitted across his lips.

  He turned around slowly and measured with his eye the proportions ofthe room, the distance between the desks and the safe and the clock. Heglanced up at the sloping glass roof above him. Then he smiled again,and again sat silent for a minute. He rose to his feet and stood withhis back to the fire. Almost in front of him was the clock in thecorner.

  He took out his watch and compared its time with that of the clock.Apparently he found that the clock was too fast, for he walked over toit and turned the minute-hand back. It seemed that this was a moredifficult feat than he supposed or that he went about it carelessly,for the minute-hand broke off short in his fingers. A spasmodicmovement of his, as the thin metal snapped, pulled the chain off itscylinder, and the weight fell with a crash.

  All the clerks looked up; and the red-headed office-boy was prompt inanswer to the bell Paul rang a moment after.

  "Bobby," said the young man to the boy, as he took his hat andovercoat, "I've just broken the clock. I know a shop where they make aspecialty of repairing timepieces like that. I'm going to tell them tosend for it at once. Give it to the man who will come this afternoonwith my card. Do you understand?"

  "Cert," the boy answered. "If he 'ain't got your card, he don't get theclock."

  "That's what I mean," Paul responded, as he left the office.

  Before he reached the door he met Mr. Wheatcroft.

  "Paul," cried the junior partner, explosively, "I've been thinkingabout that--about that--you know what I mean! And I have decided thatwe had better put a detective on this thing at once!"

  "Yes," said Paul, "that's a good idea. In fact, I had just come to thesame conclusion. I----"

  Then he checked himself. He had turned round slightly to speak to Mr.Wheatcroft; he saw that Major Van Zandt was standing within ten feet ofthem, and he noticed that the old book-keeper's face was strangelypale.

  III

  During the next week the office of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. had itsusual aspect of prosperous placidity. The routine work was done in theroutine way; the porter opened the office every morning, and theoffice-boy arrived a few minutes after it was opened; the clerks cameat nine, and a little later the partners were to be seen in the inneroffice reading the morning's correspondence.

  The Whittiers, father and son, had had a discussion with Mr. Wheatcroftas to the most advisable course to adopt to prevent the future leakageof the trade secrets of the firm. The senior partner had succeeded indissuading the junior partner from the employment of detectives.

  "Not yet," he said, "not yet. These clerks have all served usfaithfully for years, and I don't want to submit them to the indignityof being shadowed--that's what they call it, isn't it?--of beingshadowed by some cheap hireling who may try to distort the mostinnocent acts into evidence of guilt, so that he can show us how smarthe is."

  "But this sort of thing can't go on forever," ejaculated Mr.Wheatcroft. "If we are to be underbid on every contract worth having,we might as well go out of the business!"

  "That's true, of course," Mr. Whittier admitted; "but we are not surethat we are being underbid unfairly."

  "The Tuxedo Company have taken away three co
ntracts from us in the pasttwo months," cried the junior partner; "we can be sure of that, can'twe?"

  "We have lost three contracts, of course," returned Mr. Whittier, inhis most conciliatory manner, "and the Tuxedo people have capturedthem. But that may be only a coincidence, after all."

  "It is a pretty expensive coincidence for us," snorted Mr. Wheatcroft.

  "But because we have lost money," the senior partner rejoined gently,laying his hand on Mr. Wheatcroft's arm, "that's no reason why weshould also lose our heads. It is no reason why we should depart fromour old custom of treating every man fairly. If there is any one in ouremploy here who is selling us, why, if we give him rope enough he willhang himself, sooner or later."

  "And before he suspends himself that way," cried Mr. Wheatcroft, "wemay be forced to suspend ourselves."

  "Come, come, Wheatcroft," said the senior partner, "I think we canafford to stand the loss a little longer. What we can't afford to do isto lose our self-respect by doing something irreparable. It may be thatwe shall have to employ detectives, but I don't think the time has comeyet."

  "Very well," the junior partner declared, yielding an unwillingconsent. "I don't insist on it. I still think it would be best not towaste any more time--but I don't insist. What will happen is that weshall lose the rolling of those steel rails for the Springfield andAthens road--that's all."

  Paul Whittier had taken no part in this discussion. He agreed with hisfather, and saw he had no need to urge any further argument.

  Presently he asked when they intended to put in the bid for the rails.His father then explained that they were expecting a special estimatefrom the engineers at the Ramapo Works, and that it probably would beSaturday before this could be discussed by the partners and the exactfigures of the proposed contract determined.

  "And if we don't want to lose that contract for sure," insisted Mr.Wheatcroft, "I think we had better change the combination on thatsafe."

  "May I suggest," said Paul, "that it seems to me to be better to leavethe combination as it is. What we want to do is not to get thisSpringfield and Athens contract so much as to find out whether some onereally is getting at the letter-book. Therefore we mustn't make it anyharder for the some one to get at the letter-book."

  "Oh, very well," Mr. Wheatcroft assented, a little ungraciously, "haveit your own way. But I want you to understand now that I think you areonly postponing the inevitable!"

  And with that the subject was dropped. For several days the three menwho were together for hours in the office of the Ramapo Iron and SteelWorks refrained from any discussion of the question which was mostprominent in their minds.

  It was on Wednesday that the tall clock that Paul Whittier had brokenreturned from the repairer's. Paul himself helped the men to set it inits old place in the corner of the office, facing the safe, whichoccupied the corner diagonally opposite.

  It so chanced that Paul came down late on Thursday morning, and perhapsthis was the reason that a pressure of delayed work kept him in theoffice that evening long after every one else. The clerks had all gone,even Major Van Zandt, always the last to leave--and the porter had comein twice before the son of the senior partner was ready to go for thenight. The gas was lighted here and there in the long, narrow, desertedstore, as Paul walked through it from the office to the street.Opposite, the swift twilight of a New York November had already settleddown on the city.

  "Can't I carry yer bag for ye, Mister Paul?" asked the porter, who wasshowing him out.

  "No, thank you, Mike," was the young man's answer. "That bag has verylittle in it. And, besides, I haven't got to carry it far."

  The next morning Paul was the first of the three to arrive. The clerkswere in their places already, but neither the senior nor the juniorpartner had yet come. The porter happened to be standing under thewagon archway as Paul Whittier was about to enter the store.

  The young man saw the porter, and a mischievous smile hovered about thecorners of his mouth.

  "Mike," he said, pausing on the door-step, "do you think you ought tosmoke while you are cleaning out our office in the morning?"

  "Sure, I haven't had me pipe in me mouth this mornin' at all," theporter answered, taken by surprise.

  "But yesterday morning?" Paul pursued.

  "Yesterday mornin'!" Mike echoed, not a little puzzled.

  "Yesterday morning at ten minutes before eight you were in the privateoffice smoking a pipe."

  "But how did you see me, Mr. Paul?" cried Mike, in amaze. "Ye was latein comin' down yesterday, wasn't ye?"

  Paul smiled pleasantly.

  "A little bird told me," he said.

  "If I had the bird I'd ring his neck for tellin' tales," the porterremarked.

  "I don't mind your smoking, Mike," the young man went on, "that's yourown affair; but I'd rather you didn't smoke a pipe while you aretidying up the private office."

  "Well, Mister Paul, I won't do it again," the porter promised.

  "And I wouldn't encourage Bob to smoke, either," Paul continued.

  "I encourage him?" inquired Mike.

  "Yes," Paul explained; "yesterday morning you let him light hiscigarette from your pipe--didn't you?"

  "Were you peekin' in thro' the winder, Mister Paul?" the porter asked,eagerly. "Ye saw me, an' I never saw ye at all."

  "No," the young man answered, "I can't say that I saw you myself. Alittle bird told me."

  And with that he left the wondering porter and entered the store. Justinside the door was the office-boy, who hastily hid an unlightedcigarette as he caught sight of the senior partner's son.

  When Paul saw the red-headed boy he smiled again, mischievously.

  "Bob," he began, "when you want to see who can stand on his head thelongest, you or Danny the boot-black, don't you think you could choosea better place than the private office?"

  The office-boy was quite as much taken by surprise as the porter hadbeen, but he was younger and quicker-witted.

  "And when did I have Danny in the office?" he asked, defiantly.

  "Yesterday morning," Paul answered, still smiling, "a little beforehalf-past eight."

  "Yesterday mornin'?" repeated Bob, as though trying hard to recall allthe events of the day before. "Maybe Danny did come in for a minute."

  "He played leap-frog with you all the way into the private office,"Paul went on, while Bob looked at him with increasing wonder.

  "How did you know?" the office-boy asked, frankly. "Were you lookin'through the window?"

  "How do I know that you and Danny stood on your heads in the corner ofthe office with your heels against the safe, scratching off the paint?Next time I'd try the yard, if I were you. Sports of that sort are morefun in the open air."

  And with that parting shot Paul went on his way to his own desk,leaving the office-boy greatly puzzled.

  Later in the day Bob and Mike exchanged confidences, and neither wasready with an explanation.

  "At school," Bob declared, "we used to think teacher had eyes in theback of her head. She was everlastingly catchin' me when I did thingsbehind her back. But Mr. Paul beats that, for he see me doin' thingswhen he wasn't here."

  "Mister Paul wasn't here, for sure, yesterday mornin'," Mike asserted;"I'd take me oath o' that. An' if he wasn't here, how could he see megivin' ye a light from me pipe? Answer me that! He says it's a littlebird told him; but that's not it, I'm thinkin'. Not but that they haveclocks with birds into 'em, that come out and tell the time o' day,'Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' An' if that big clock he broke last week hada bird in it that could tell time that way, I'd break the thingquick--so I would."

  "It ain't no bird," said Bob. "You can bet your life on that. No birdscan't tell him nothin' no more'n you can catch 'em by putting salt ontheir tails. I know what it is Mr. Paul does--least, I know how he doesit. It's second-sight, that's what it is! I see a man onct at thetheayter, an' he----"

  But perhaps it is not necessary to set down here the office-boy'srecollection of the trick of an ingenious
magician.

  About half an hour after Paul had arrived at the office Mr. Wheatcroftappeared. The junior partner hesitated in the doorway for a second, andthen entered.

  Paul was watching him, and the same mischievous smile flashed over theface of the young man.

  "You need not be alarmed to-day, Mr. Wheatcroft," he said. "There is nofascinating female waiting for you this morning."

  "Confound the woman!" ejaculated Mr. Wheatcroft, testily. "I couldn'tget rid of her."

  "But you subscribed for the book at last," asserted Paul, "and she wentaway happy."

  "I believe I did agree to take one copy of the work she showed me,"admitted Mr. Wheatcroft, a little sheepishly. Then he looked upsuddenly. "Why, bless my soul," he cried, "that was yesterdaymorning----"

  "Allowing for differences of clocks," Paul returned, "it was about tenminutes to ten yesterday morning."

  "Then how do you come to know anything about it? I should like to betold that!" the junior partner inquired. "You did not get down tillnearly twelve."

  "I had an eye on you," Paul answered, as the smile again flitted acrosshis face.

  "But I thought you were detained all the morning by a sick friend,"insisted Mr. Wheatcroft.

  "So I was," Paul responded. "And if you won't believe I had an eye onyou, all I can say then is that a little bird told me."

  "Stuff and nonsense!" cried Mr. Wheatcroft. "Your little bird has twolegs, hasn't it?"

  "Most birds have," laughed Paul.

  "I mean two legs in a pair of trousers," explained the junior partner,rumpling his grizzled hair with an impatient gesture.

  "You see how uncomfortable it is to be shadowed," said Paul, turningthe topic as his father entered the office.

  That Saturday afternoon Mr. Whittier and Mr. Wheatcroft agreed on thebid to be made on the steel rails needed by the Springfield and Athensroad. While the elder Mr. Whittier wrote the letter to the railroadwith his own hand, his son manoeuvred the junior partner into theouter office, where all the clerks happened to be at work, includingthe old book-keeper. Then Paul managed his conversation with Mr.Wheatcroft so that any one of the five employees who chose to listen tothe apparently careless talk should know that the firm had just made abid on another important contract. Paul also spoke as though his fatherand himself would probably go out of town that Saturday night, toremain away till Monday morning.

  And just before the store was closed for the night, Paul Whittier woundup the eight-day clock that stood in the corner opposite the privatesafe.

  IV

  Although the Whittiers, father and son, spent Sunday out of town, Paulmade an excuse to the friends whom they were visiting, and returned tothe city by a midnight train. Thus he was enabled to present himself atthe office of the Ramapo Works very early on Monday morning.

  It was so early, indeed, that no one of the employees had arrived whenthe son of the senior partner, bag in hand, pushed open the street doorand entered the long store, at the far end of which the porter wasstill tidying up for the day's work.

  "An' is that you, Mister Paul?" Mike asked in surprise, as he came outof the private office to see who the early visitor might be. "An' whatbrought ye out o' your bed before breakfast like this?"

  "I always get out of bed before breakfast," Paul replied. "Don't you?"

  "Would I get up if I hadn't got to get up to get my livin'?" the porterreplied.

  Paul entered the office, followed by Mike, still wondering why theyoung man was there at that hour.

  After a swift glance round the office Paul put down his bag on thetable and turned suddenly to the porter with a question.

  "When does Bob get down here?"

  Mike looked at the clock in the corner before answering.

  "It'll be ten minutes," he said, "or maybe twenty, before the boy doesbe here to-day, seein' it's Monday mornin', an' he'll be tired with notworkin' of Sunday."

  "Ten minutes," repeated Paul, slowly. After a moment's thought hecontinued, "Then I'll have to ask you to go out for me, Mike."

  "I can go anywhere ye want, Mister Paul," the porter responded.

  "I want you to go----" began Paul, "I want you to go----" and hehesitated, as though he was not quite sure what it was he wished theporter to do, "I want you to go to the office of the _Gotham Gazette_and get me two copies of yesterday's paper. Do you understand?"

  "Maybe they won't be open so early in the mornin'," said the Irishman.

  "That's no matter," said Paul, hastily correcting himself; "I mean thatI want you to go there now and get the papers if you can. Of course, ifthe office isn't open I shall have to send again later."

  "I'll be goin' now, Mister Paul," and Mike took his hat from a chairand started off at once.

  Paul walked through the store with the porter. When Mike had gone theyoung man locked the front door and returned at once to the privateoffice in the rear. He shut himself in, and lowered all the shades sothat whatever he might do inside could not be seen by any one on theoutside.

  Whatever it was he wished to do he was able to do it swiftly, for inless than a minute after he had closed the door of the office he openedit again and came out into the main store with his bag in his hand. Hewalked leisurely to the front of the store, arriving just in time tounlock the door as the office-boy came around the corner smoking acigarette.

  When Bob, still puffing steadily, was about to open the door and enterthe store he looked up and discovered that Paul was gazing at him. Theboy pinched the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it outside, andthen came in, his eyes expressing his surprise at the presence of thesenior partner's son down-town at that early hour in the morning.

  Paul greeted the boy pleasantly, but Bob got away from him as soon aspossible. Ever since the young man had told what had gone on in theoffice when Bob was its only occupant, the office-boy was a littleafraid of the young man, as though somewhat mysterious, not to sayuncanny.

  Paul thought it best to wait for the porter's return, and he stoodoutside under the archway for five minutes, smoking a cigar, with hisbag at his feet.

  When Mike came back with the two copies of the Sunday newspaper he hadbeen sent to get, Paul gave him the money for them and an extra quarterfor himself. Then the young man picked up his bag again.

  "When my father comes down, Mike," he said, "tell him I may be a littlelate in getting back this morning."

  "An' are ye goin' away now, Mister Paul?" the porter asked. "What goodwas it that ye got out o' bed before breakfast and come down here soearly in the mornin'?"

  Paul laughed a little. "I had a reason for coming here this morning,"he answered, briefly; and with that he walked away, his bag in one handand the two bulky, gaudy papers in the other.

  Mike watched him turn the corner, and then went into the store again,where Bob greeted him promptly with the query why the old man's son hadbeen getting up by the bright light.

  "If I was the boss, or the boss's son either," said Bob, "I wouldn'tget up till I was good and ready. I'd have my breakfast in bed if I hada mind to, an' my dinner too, an' my supper. An' I wouldn't do no work,an' I'd go to the theayter every night, and twice on Saturdays."

  "I dunno why Mister Paul was down," Mike explained. "All he wanted wastwo o' thim Sunday papers with pictures in thim. What did he want twoo' thim for I dunno. There's reading enough in one o' thim to last me amonth of Sundays."

  It may be surmised that Mike would have been still more in the dark asto Paul Whittier's reasons for coming down-town so early that Mondaymorning if he could have seen the young man throw the copies of the_Gotham Gazette_ into the first ash-cart he passed after he was out ofrange of the porter's vision.

  Paul was not the only member of Whittier, Wheatcroft & Co. to arrive atthe office early that morning. Mr. Wheatcroft was usually punctual,taking his seat at his desk just as the clock struck half-past nine. Onthis Monday morning he entered the store a little before nine.

  As he walked back to the office he looked over at the desks of thecler
ks as though he was seeking some one.

  At the door of the office he met Bob.

  "Hasn't the Major come down yet?" he asked, shortly.

  "No, sir," the boy answered. "He don't never get here till nine."

  "H'm," grunted the junior partner. "When he does come, tell him I wantto see him at once--at once, do you understand?"

  "I ain't deaf and dumb and blind," Bob responded. "I'll steer him intoyou as soon as ever he shows up."

  But, for a wonder, the old book-keeper was late that morning.Ordinarily he was a model of exactitude. Yet the clock struck nine, andhalf-past, and ten before he appeared in the store.

  Before he changed his coat Bob was at his side.

  "Mr. Wheatcroft he wants to see you now in a hurry," said the boy.

  Major Van Zandt paled swiftly, and steadied himself by a grasp of therailing.

  "Does Mr. Wheatcroft wish to see me?" he asked, faintly.

  "You bet he does," the boy answered, "an' in a hurry, too. He camebright an' early this morning a-purpose to see you, an' he's beena-waiting for two hours. An' I guess he's got his mad up now."

  When the old book-keeper with his blanched face and his faltering stepentered the private office Mr. Wheatcroft wheeled around in his chair.

  "Oh, it's you, is it?" he cried. "At last!"

  "I regret that I was late this morning, Mr. Wheatcroft," Van Zandtbegan.

  "That's no matter," said the employer;--"at least, I want to talk aboutsomething else."

  "About something else?" echoed the old man, feebly.

  "Yes," responded Mr. Wheatcroft. "Shut the door behind you, please, sothat that red-headed cub out there can't hear what I am going to say,and take a chair. Yes; there is something else I've got to say to you,and I want you to be frank with me."

  Whatever it was that Mr. Wheatcroft had to say to Major Van Zandt ithad to be said under the eyes of the clerks on the other side of theglass partition. And it took a long time saying, for it was evident toany observer of the two men as they sat in the private office that Mr.Wheatcroft was trying to force an explanation of some kind from the oldbook-keeper, and that the Major was resisting his employer's entreatiesas best he could. Apparently the matter under discussion was of animportance so grave as to make Mr. Wheatcroft resolutely retain hisself-control; and not once did he let his voice break out explosively,as was his custom.

  Major Van Zandt was still closeted with Wheatcroft when Mr. Whittierarrived. The senior partner stopped near the street door to speak to aclerk, and he was joined almost immediately by his son.

  "Well, Paul," said the father, "have I got down here before you afterall, and in spite of your running away last night?"

  "No," the son responded, "I was the first to arrive thismorning--luckily."

  "Luckily?" echoed his father. "I suppose that means that you have beenable to accomplish your purpose--whatever it was. You didn't tell me,you know."

  "I'm ready to tell you now, father," said Paul, "since I havesucceeded."

  Walking down the store together, they came to the private office.

  As the old book-keeper saw them he started up, and made as if to leavethe office.

  "Keep your seat, Major," cried Mr. Wheatcroft, sternly, but notunkindly. "Keep your seat, please."

  Then he turned to Mr. Whittier. "I have something to tell you both,"he said, "and I want the Major here while I tell you. Paul, may Itrouble you to see that the door is closed so that we are out ofhearing?"

  "Certainly," Paul responded, as he closed the door.

  "Well, Wheatcroft," Mr. Whittier said, "what is all this mystery ofyours now?"

  The junior partner swung around in his chair and faced Mr. Whittier.

  "My mystery?" he cried. "It's the mystery that puzzled us all, and I'vesolved it."

  "What do you mean?" asked the senior partner.

  "What I mean is, that somebody has been opening that safe there in thecorner, and reading our private letter-book, and finding out what wewere bidding on important contracts. What I mean is, that this man hastaken this information, filched from us, and sold it to ourcompetitors, who were not too scrupulous to buy stolen goods!"

  "We all suspected this, as you know," the elder Whittier said; "haveyou anything new to add to it now?"

  "Haven't I?" returned Mr. Wheatcroft. "I've found the man! That's all!"

  "You, too?" ejaculated Paul.

  "Who is he?" asked the senior partner.

  "Wait a minute," Mr. Wheatcroft begged. "Don't be in a hurry and I'lltell you. Yesterday afternoon, I don't know what possessed me, but Ifelt drawn down-town for some reason. I wanted to see if anything wasgoing on down here. I knew we had made that bid Saturday, and Iwondered if anybody would try to get it on Sunday. So I came down aboutfour o'clock, and I saw a man sneak out of the front door of thisoffice. I followed him as swiftly as I could and as quietly, for Ididn't want to give the alarm until I knew more. The man did not see meas he turned to go up the steps of the elevated railroad station. Atthe corner I saw his face."

  "Did you recognize him?" asked Mr. Whittier.

  "Yes," was the answer. "And he did not see me. There were tears rollingdown his cheeks, perhaps that's the reason. This morning I called himin here, and he has finally confessed the whole thing."

  "Who--who is it?" asked Mr. Whittier, dreading to look at the oldbook-keeper, who had been in the employ of the firm for thirty yearsand more.

  "It is Major Van Zandt!" Mr. Wheatcroft declared.

  There was a moment of silence; then the voice of Paul Whittier washeard, saying, "I think there is some mistake!"

  "A mistake!" cried Mr. Wheatcroft. "What kind of a mistake?"

  "A mistake as to the guilty man," responded Paul.

  "Do you mean that the Major isn't guilty?" asked Mr. Wheatcroft.

  "That's what I mean," Paul returned.

  "But he has confessed," Mr. Wheatcroft retorted.

  "I can't help that," was the response. "He isn't the man who openedthat safe yesterday afternoon at half-past three and took out theletter-book."

  The old book-keeper looked at the young man in frightened amazement.

  "I have confessed it," he said, piteously--"I have confessed it."

  "I know you have, Major," Paul declared, not unkindly. "And I don'tknow why you have, for you were not the man."

  "And if the man who confesses is not the man who did it, who is?" askedWheatcroft, sarcastically.

  "I don't know who is, although I have my suspicions," said Paul; "but Ihave his photograph--taken in the act!"

  V

  When Paul Whittier said he had a photograph of the mysterious enemy ofthe Ramapo Steel and Iron Works in the very act of opening the safe,Mr. Whittier and Mr. Wheatcroft looked at each other in amazement.Major Van Zandt stared at the young man with fear and shame strugglingtogether in his face.

  Without waiting to enjoy his triumph, Paul put his hand in his pocketand took out two squares of bluish paper.

  "There," he said, as he handed one to his father, "there is a blueprint of the man taken in this office at ten minutes past threeyesterday afternoon, just as he was about to open the safe in thecorner. You see he is kneeling with his hand on the lock, butapparently just then something alarmed him and he cast a hasty glanceover his shoulder. At that second the photograph was taken, and so wehave a full-face portrait of the man."

  Mr. Whittier had looked at the photograph, and he now passed it to theimpatient hand of the junior partner.

  "You see, Mr. Wheatcroft," Paul continued, "that although the face inthe photograph bears a certain family likeness to Major Van Zandt's,all the same that is not a portrait of the Major. The man who was hereyesterday was a young man, a man young enough to be the Major's son!"

  The old book-keeper looked at the speaker.

  "Mr. Paul," he began, "you won't be hard on the----" then he pausedabruptly.

  "I confess I don't understand this at all!" declared Mr. Wheatcroft,irascibly.

  "I am af
raid that I do understand it," Mr. Whittier said, with a glanceof compassion at the Major.

  "There," Paul continued, handing his father a second azure square,"there is a photograph taken here ten minutes after the first, at 3.20yesterday afternoon. That shows the safe open and the young manstanding before it with the private letter-book in his hand. As hishead is bent over the pages of the book, the view of the face is not sogood. But there can be no doubt that it is the same man. You see that,don't you, Mr. Wheatcroft?"

  "I see that, of course," returned Mr. Wheatcroft, forcibly. "What Idon't see is why the Major here should confess if he isn't guilty!"

  "I think I know the reason for that," said Mr. Whittier, gently.

  "There haven't been two men at our books, have there?" asked Mr.Wheatcroft--"the Major, and also the fellow who has been photographed?"

  Mr. Whittier looked at the book-keeper for a moment.

  "Major," he said, with compassion in his voice, "you won't tell me thatit was you who sold our secrets to our rivals? And you might confess itagain and again, I should never believe it. I know you better. I haveknown you too long to believe any charge against your honesty, even ifyou bring it yourself. The real culprit, the man who is photographedhere, is your son, isn't he? There is no use in your trying to concealthe truth now, and there is no need to attempt it, because we shall belenient with him for your sake, Major."

  There was a moment's silence, broken by Wheatcroft suddenly saying:

  "The Major's son? Why, he's dead, isn't he? He was shot in a brawlafter a spree somewhere out West two or three years ago--at least,that's what I understood at the time."

  "It is what I wanted everybody to understand at the time," said thebook-keeper, breaking silence at last. "But it wasn't so. The boy wasshot, but he wasn't killed. I hoped that it would be a warning to him,and he would make a fresh start. Friends of mine got him a place inMexico, but luck was against him--so he wrote me--and he lost that.Then an old comrade of mine gave him another chance out in Denver, andfor a while he kept straight and did his work well. Then he broke downonce more and he was discharged. For six months I did not know what hadbecome of him. I've found out since that he was a tramp for weeks, andthat he walked most of the way from Colorado to New York. This fall heturned up in the city, ragged, worn out, sick. I wanted to order himaway, but I couldn't. I took him back and got him decent clothes andtook him to look for a place, for I knew that hard work was the onlything that would keep him out of mischief. He did not find a place,perhaps he did not look for one. But all at once I discovered that hehad money. He would not tell me how he got it. I knew he could not havecome by it honestly, and so I watched him. I spied after him, and atlast I found that he was selling you to the Tuxedo Company."

  "But how could he open the safe?" cried Mr. Wheatcroft. "You didn'tknow the new combination."

  "I did not tell him the combination I did know," said the oldbook-keeper, with pathetic dignity. "And I didn't have to tell him. Hecan open almost any safe without knowing the combination. How he doesit, I don't know; it is his gift. He listens to the wheels as theyturn, and he sets first one and then the other; and in ten minutes thesafe is open."

  "How could he get into the store?" Mr. Whittier inquired.

  "He knew I had a key," responded the old book-keeper, "and he stole itfrom me. He used to watch on Sunday afternoons till Mike went for awalk, and then he unlocked the store, and slipped in and opened thesafe. Two weeks ago Mike came back unexpectedly, and he had just timeto get out of one of the rear windows of this office."

  "Yes," Paul remarked, as the Major paused, "Mike told me that he founda window unfastened."

  "I heard you asking about it," Major Van Zandt explained, "and I knewthat if you were suspicious he was sure to be caught sooner or later.So I begged him not to try to injure you again. I offered him money togo away. But he refused my money; he said he could get it for himselfnow, and I might keep mine until he needed it. He gave me the slipyesterday afternoon. When I found he was gone I came here straight. Thefront door was unlocked; I walked in and found him just closing thesafe here. I talked to him, and he refused to listen to me. I tried toget him to give up his idea, and he struck me. Then I left him, and Iwent out, seeing no one as I hurried home. That's when Mr. Wheatcroftfollowed me, I suppose. The boy never came back all night. I haven'tseen him since; I don't know where he is, but he is my son, afterall--my only son! And when Mr. Wheatcroft accused me, I confessed atlast, thinking you might be easier on me than you would be on the boy."

  "My poor friend," said Mr. Whittier, sympathetically, holding out hishand, which the Major clasped gratefully for a moment.

  "Now that we know who was selling us to the Tuxedo people, we canprotect ourselves hereafter," declared Mr. Wheatcroft. "And in spite ofyour trying to humbug me into believing you guilty, Major, I'm willingto let your son off easy."

  "I think I can get him a place where he will be out of temptation,because he will be kept hard at work always," said Paul.

  The old book-keeper looked up as though about to thank the young man,but there seemed to be a lump in his throat which prevented him fromspeaking.

  Suddenly Mr. Wheatcroft began, explosively, "That's all very well! butwhat I still don't understand is how Paul got those photographs!"

  Mr. Whittier looked at his son and smiled. "That is a littlemysterious, Paul," he said, "and I confess I'd like to know how you didit."

  "Were you concealed here yourself?" asked Mr. Wheatcroft.

  "No," Paul answered. "If you will look round this room you will seethat there isn't a dark corner in which anybody could tuck himself."

  "Then where was the photographer hidden?" Mr. Wheatcroft inquired, withincreasing curiosity.

  "In the clock," responded Paul.

  "In the clock?" echoed Mr. Wheatcroft, greatly amazed. "Why, thereisn't room in the case of that clock for a thin midget, let alone aman!"

  Paul enjoyed puzzling his father's partner. "I didn't say I had a manthere or a midget either," he explained. "I said that the photographerwas in the clock--and I might have said that the clock itself was thephotographer."

  Mr. Wheatcroft threw up his hands in disgust. "Well," he cried, "if youwant to go on mystifying us in this absurd way, go on as long as youlike! But your father and I are entitled to some consideration, Ithink."

  "I'm not mystifying you at all; the clock took the picturesautomatically. I'll show you how," Paul returned, getting up from hischair and going to the corner of the office.

  Taking a key from his pocket he opened the case of the clock andrevealed a small photographic apparatus inside, with the tube of theobjective opposite the round glass panel in the door of the case. Atthe bottom of the case was a small electrical battery, and on a smallshelf over this was an electro-magnet.

  "I begin to see how you did it," Mr. Whittier remarked. "I am not anexpert in photography, Paul, and I'd like a full explanation. And makeit as simple as you can."

  "It's a very simple thing indeed," said the son. "One day while I waswondering how we could best catch the man who was getting at the books,that clock happened to strike, and somehow it reminded me that in ourphotographic society at college we had once suggested that it would beamusing to attach a detective camera to a timepiece and take snapshotsevery few minutes all through the day. I saw that this clock of oursfaced the safe, and that it couldn't be better placed for the purpose.So when I had thought out my plan, I came over here and pretended thatthe clock was wrong, and in setting it right I broke off theminute-hand. Then I had a man I know send for it for repairs; he isboth an electrician and an expert photographer. Together we worked outthis device. Here is a small snap-shot camera loaded with a hundred andfifty films; and here is the electrical attachment which connects withthe clock so as to take a photograph every ten minutes from eight inthe morning to six at night. We arranged that the magnet should turnthe spool of film after every snap-shot."

  "Well!" cried Mr. Wheatcroft. "I don't know much about these thi
ngs,but I read the papers, and I suppose you mean that the clock 'pressedthe button,' and the electricity pulled the string."

  "That's it precisely," the young man responded. "Of course I wasn'tquite sure how it would work, so I thought I would try it first on aweek-day when we were all here. It did work all right, and I madeseveral interesting discoveries. I found that Mike smoked a pipe inthis office--and that Bob played leap-frog in the store and stood onhis head in the corner there up against the safe!"

  "The confounded young rascal!" interrupted Mr. Wheatcroft.

  Paul smiled as he continued. "I found also that Mr. Wheatcroft wascaptivated by a pretty book-agent and bought two bulky volumes hedidn't want."

  Mr. Wheatcroft looked sheepish for a moment.

  "Oh, that's how you knew, is it?" he growled, running his handsimpatiently through his shock of hair.

  "That's how I knew," Paul replied. "I told you I had an eye on you. Itwas the lone eye of the camera. And on Sunday it kept watch for ushere, winking every ten minutes. From eight o'clock in the morning tothree in the afternoon it winked forty-two times, and all it saw wasthe same scene, the empty corner of the room here, with the safe in theshadow at first and at last in the full light that poured down from theglass roof over us. But a little after three a man came into the officeand made ready to open the safe. At ten minutes past three the clockand the camera took his photograph--in the twinkling of an eye. Attwenty minutes past three a second record was made. Before half-pastthree the man was gone, and the camera winked every ten minutes untilsix o'clock quite in vain. I came down early this morning and got theroll of negatives. One after another I developed them, disappointedthat I had almost counted fifty of them without reward. But theforty-third and the forty-fourth paid for all my trouble."

  Mr. Whittier gave his son a look of pride. "That was very ingeniouslyworked out, Paul; very ingeniously indeed," he said. "If it had notbeen for your clock here I might have found it difficult to prove thatthe Major was innocent--especially since he declared himself guilty."

  Mr. Wheatcroft rose to his feet, to close the conversation.

  "I'm glad we know the truth, anyhow," he asserted, emphatically. Andthen, as though to relieve the strain on the old book-keeper, he added,with a loud laugh at his own joke, "That clock had its hands before itsface all the time--but it kept its eyes open for all that!"

  "Don't forget that it had only one eye," said Whittier, joining in thelaugh; "it had an eye single to its duty."

  "You know the French saying, father," added Paul, "'In the realm of theblind the one-eyed man is king.'"

  (1895.)