high-lights on Broadway, and the noises of the street came
stridently up, still, there seemed to the boy to be a shadowy
and brooding hush over the place.

Remembering his subconscious impressions of some indefinable evil
at hand, the boy shivered with a strange dread as he switched on
the electrics, half afraid of what they might reveal. Why was
the room so dark and silent? The lights had been burning when
he looked up from below, and he had not met Mr. Cameron on his
way up. Where was the man he had come to meet? What evil had
befallen him?

At the left of the apartment, from which two others opened, to
right and left, was a small safe, used privately by Mr. Cameron.
Its usual place was against the wall, but it had been wheeled
about so that it fronted the windows. The door was open, and,
although no violence seemed to have been used, Fremont saw that
the interior was in a mess, papers and books being scattered
about in confusion.

At the right of the room, and near the doorway opening into the
north room, stood a large flat-topped desk, most of the drawers
of which were now open. One of the drawers lay on its side on
the floor, and was empty. The articles on the desk's top gave
evidence of rough handling. Papers appeared to be dripping
from filecases, and a black pool of ink lay on the shining
surface of the desk.

A swivel-chair which had stood in front of the desk was
overturned, and its back now rested on the rug while its