CHAPTER III.
A TERRIBLE PLOT AGAINST A HELPLESS YOUNG GIRL.
A gasp of horror broke from Kendale's lips.

Yes, Lester Armstrong was fatally injured, he could see that.
Glancing up, he saw that they were within a few doors of his lodgings.
Picking him up by main force, he carried him thither at once and placed him upon his couch.

He had expected to see him breathe his last, but to his great surprise Lester Armstrong opened his eyes and whispered his name.
"It is all over with me, Clinton," he whispered.

"I--I realize that my fall was fatal, and that it is a question of moments with me, but I--I cannot die until I have told you all, and you have promised to go quickly to my darling and tell her my sad fate." "Any commission you have you may be sure I will execute for you," replied Kendale, and even while he spoke he was wondering whereabouts in that room Lester Armstrong kept his cash.
Between gasps, his voice growing fainter and fainter with each word, poor Lester told his story, of his love, his wooing and the climax which was to have taken place in two hours' time.
Kendale listened with bated breath.

To say that he was amazed, dumfounded, scarcely expressed his intense surprise.
Armstrong, his poor plodding cousin, to strike such luck as to be about to marry an heiress! It seemed like a veritable fairy story.