Philip Stark sat down to breakfast in a savage frame of mind. He wanted to be revenged upon Gibbon, whom he suspected of having deceived him by opening and appropriating the bonds, and then arranged to have him carry off the box filled with waste paper.
He sat at the table but five minutes, for he had little or no appetite.
From the breakfast room he went out on the piazza, and with corrugated brows smoked a cigar, but it failed to have the usual soothing effect.
If he had known the truth he would have left Milford without delay, but he was far from suspecting that the deception practiced upon him had been arranged by the man whom he wanted to rob. While there seemed little inducement for him to stay in Milford, he was determined to seek the bookkeeper, and ascertain whether, as he suspected, his confederate had in his possession the bonds which he had been scheming for. If so, he would compel him by threats to disgorge the larger portion, and then leave town at once.
But the problem was, how to see him. He felt that it would be venturesome to go round to the factory, as by this time the loss might have been discovered. If only the box had been left, the discovery might be deferred.
Then a bright idea occurred to him. He must get the box out of his own possession, as its discovery would compromise him. Why could he not arrange to leave it somewhere on the premises of his confederate?
He resolved upon the instant to carry out the idea. He went up to his room, wrapped the tin box in a paper, and walked round to the house of the bookkeeper. The coast seemed to be clear, as he supposed it would be. He slipped into the yard, and swiftly entered an outhouse. There was a large wooden chest, or box, which had once been used to store grain. Stark lifted the cover, dropped the box inside, and then, with a feeling of relief, walked out of the yard. But he had been observed. Mrs. Gibbon chanced to be looking out of a side window and saw him. She recognized him as the stranger who had been in the habit of spending recent evenings with her husband.
"What can he want here at this time?" she asked herself.
She deliberated whether she should go to the door and speak to Stark, but decided not to do so.
"He will call at the door if he has anything to say," she reflected.
Phil Stark walked on till he reached the factory.
He felt that he must see Julius Gibbon, and satisfy himself as to the meaning of the mysterious substitution of waste paper for bonds.
When he reached a point where he could see into the office, he caught the eye of Leonard, who was sitting at the window. He beckoned for him to come out, and Leonard was glad to do so.
"Where are you going?" asked the bookkeeper, observing the boy's movement.
"Mr. Stark is just across the street, and he beckoned for me."
Julius Gibbon flushed painfully, and he trembled with nervous agitation, for he feared something had happened.
"Very well, go out, but don't stay long."
Leonard crossed the street and walked up to Stark, who awaited him, looking grim and stern.
"Your uncle is inside?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Tell him I wish to see him at once--on business of importance."
"He's busy," said Leonard. "'He doesn't leave the office in business hours."
"Tell him I must see him--do you hear?
He'll come fast enough."
"I wonder what it's all about," thought Leonard, whose curiosity was naturally excited.
"Wait a minute!" said Stark, as he turned to go.
"Is Jennings in?"
"No, sir, he has gone over to the next town."
"Probably the box has not been missed, then," thought Stark. "So much the better! I can find out how matters stand, and then leave town."
"Very well!" he said, aloud, "let your uncle understand that I must see him."
