Clayton sprang to his feet and then, with lightning rapidity, packed up the treasure which the old accountant had gathered out of the morning mail, and received from the prompt and timorous debtors fearful of having their "credit cut." He was fifteen minutes late as he stepped out upon Fourteenth Street, valise in hand and the ready pistol once more in his pocket.

The day's "haul" was rich in checks and light in cash, but the total was a considerable fortune.
"Serve the old brute right if I'd bolt some day with a good stake," wrathfully murmured Clayton.

"He would be in for fifty thousand dollars' bond! Damn his famed benevolence.

He wished to anchor me here for life, and, so cover his tracks.

He might even put up a fancied theft on me if I quarrel.