“Hell!” he muttered.  “Look what I’ve done now!”

The girl hurried to her room and turned on the lights, and again she seated herself before her mirror, and for a moment sat staring at the countenance reflected before her.  She saw lips parted to rapid breathing, lips that curved sweetly in a happy smile, and then as she sat there looking she saw the expression of the face before her change.  The lips ceased to smile, the soft, brown eyes went wide and staring as though in sudden horror.  For a moment she sat thus and then, throwing her body forward upon her dressing-table, she buried her face in her arms.

“My God!” she cried through choking sobs.

Mason Compton was at his office the next morning, contrary to the pleas of his daughter and the orders of his physician.  Bince was feeling more cheerful.  Murray had assured him that there was a way out.  He would not tell Bince what the way was.

“Just leave it to me,” he said.  “The less you know, the better off you’ll be.  What you want is to get rid of this fresh guy and have all the papers in a certain vault destroyed.  You see to it that only the papers you want destroyed are in that vault, and I’ll do the rest.”

All of which relieved Mr. Harold Bince’s elastic conscience of any feeling of responsibility in the matter.  Whatever Murray did was no business of his.  He was glad that Murray hadn’t told him.

He greeted Jimmy Torrance almost affably, but he lost something of his self-composure when Mason Compton arrived at the office, for Bince had been sure that his employer would be laid up for at least another week, during which time Murray would have completed his work.

The noon mail brought a letter from Murray.

“Show the enclosed to Compton,” it read.  “Tell him you found it on your desk, and destroy this letter.”  The enclosure was a crudely printed note on a piece of soiled wrapping-paper: 

Treat your men right or
suffer the consequences
I. W. W.

Bince laid Murray’s letter face down upon the balance of the open mail, and sat for a long time looking at the ominous words of the enclosure.  At first he was inclined to be frightened, but finally a crooked smile twisted his lips.  “Murray’s not such a fool, after all,” he soliloquized.

“He’s framing an alibi before he starts.”

With the note in his hand, Bince entered Compton’s office, where he found the latter dictating to Edith Hudson.  “Look at this thing!” exclaimed Bince, laying the note before Compton.  “What do you suppose it means?”

Compton read it, and his brows knitted.  “Have the men been complaining at all?” he asked.

“Recently I have heard a little grumbling,” replied Bince.  “They haven’t taken very kindly to Torrance’s changes, and I guess some of them are afraid they are going to lose their jobs, as they know he is cutting down the force in order to cut costs.”