With these words, Grace walked to the telephone without giving Hammond time to answer.  “Give me Main 268a, please,” she said.  With a bound he sprang to the door, but it closed in his face, and he heard the turn of the key in the lock, just as Grace calmly called, “Hello, is this Chief Burroughs?  Is my father there?” Then she answered, “You say he is there?  Well, this is his daughter, Grace.  Please tell him that Miss Savell and I are just about to leave Mr. Hammond’s office, and wish him to meet us outside.”

Hammond sprang toward Grace, but instantly realizing that it would be folly to molest her, drew back, scowling savagely.

Grace hung up the receiver and rang again.  This time she called the bank, asking for the president.  “Is this Mr. Furlow?” she said.  “This is Grace Harlowe.  I am at the office of Mr. Henry Hammond, who is about to write my father a check for five hundred dollars, which he wishes to cash before the bank closes.  It is now ten minutes of three.  He will be there inside of seven minutes.  Thank you.  Good-bye.”

“Now,” she commanded, turning to Hammond, the expression of whose face was a combination of baffled rage, disappointment and fear, “write the check.”

With a muttered imprecation he went to his desk, jerked out a checkbook and wrote the desired check.

“To whom shall I make it payable?” he muttered.

“To Thomas G. Harlowe,” replied Grace composedly.

Inserting her father’s name, he fairly flung the check in her face, and strode to the door.

“Open this door,” he commanded.

There was no response.

“You may open the door, Eleanor,” called Grace.  “Mr. Hammond is ready to go now.”

The key turned in the lock.  With a savage jerk, Henry Hammond flung open the door, and brushing Eleanor aside, bolted for the stairway.

Five seconds later the two girls reached the sidewalk and found Mr. Harlowe waiting for them.

“Father, dear,” exclaimed Grace.  “Here is a check for five hundred dollars, made payable to you by Mr. Henry Hammond.  You have five minutes in which to cash it, before the bank closes.  I’ll tell you the story of it later.  I haven’t time now.”

The First National Bank was just around the corner, and three minutes later Mr. Harlowe walked in, accompanied by Grace and Eleanor, and cashed the check without any trouble.

“Tom Harlowe must have made money on some deal with Hammond,” thought the cashier, as he closed the window.  “He is about the only one who has that I know of.”

“And now, daughter, whose money is this, and what is it all about?” asked her father gravely, as they left the bank.

“I can have no better confidant than my father,” declared Grace, and she thereupon told him the whole story.

Mr. Harlowe heard her story with mingled emotions of pride and disapproval.

“Never take such a risk again, Grace,” he said sternly.  “Suppose this man had carried a revolver.  He might easily have turned the tables.”