On entering the offices Frank had glanced at a clock on the wall and found it was five minutes past three.

“You don’t know how soon he will be back?” he queried.

“No.”

“If you will remember, I had an appointment at three sharp.”

“I remember it very well.” The clerk hesitated. “Would you mind telling me what your business was with Mr. Garrison?”

“It was a private matter.”

“Relating to money matters?”

“In a way, yes. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I have reasons. Perhaps you had better sit down and wait for him.”

“That is what I intend to do. If necessary, I’ll wait for him until you shut up,” added our hero, as he dropped into a chair.

“Then you are bound to see him.”

“I am.”

The clerk said no more, but turned to a set of books and began to write. Frank remained silent for perhaps ten minutes.

“Did Mr. Garrison say where he was going?” he asked.

“Out to collect a bill.”

“Near by?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he go out alone?”

“Yes.”

There was another spell of silence, and then the outer door opened quickly, and two well-dressed men stepped in.

“We wish to see Mr. Garrison,” said one, while he looked about to see if that individual was in sight.

“Sorry, sir; but he’s out,” said the clerk.

“When will he be back?” put in the second man.

“I can’t say.”

The two men exchanged glances, and one uttered a low whistle.

“Reckon we’re too late,” muttered the latter of the pair.

“It looks like it, Mason,” was the answer.

“What’s to do next?”

“Find him—if we can—and do it right away.”

“But it’s like looking for a pin in a haystack.”

“That’s true, too.” The man turned again to the clerk. “You are sure you don’t know where to find Mr. Garrison?”

“I haven’t the least idea where he has gone to.”

The other man had walked to the rear and glanced into the private office.

“Did Mr. Garrison have a satchel with him when he left?” he asked.

“He has a dress-suit case with him.”

“Humph!”

Frank listened to the talk with close attention. Then he arose and turned to the man who had been addressed as Mason.

“Excuse me, sir, but is your name Bardwell Mason?” he questioned.

“It is. Who are you?”

“I am Frank Hardy. My father is Thomas Hardy, of Claster.”

“Phew! Then you are after Garrison, too, eh?”

“I wish to see him. He was here this morning and promised to see me at three o’clock. It is now half-past three.”

“When did you call this morning?”

“About half-past eleven.”

“And you had a talk with him?”

“No, sir; I sent my name into the private office by this clerk.”

“Of course you want to see him about this security business.”

“Yes, sir. My father told me that if I couldn’t get any satisfaction here I should call upon you.”

Bardwell Mason nodded. Then he bent forward and lowered his voice.

“I’m afraid the fat’s in the fire here,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Jabez Garrison knows he is found out and that he has flown.”

“You mean that he has run away?” whispered Frank, in horror.

“It certainly looks that way. We have had an expert on his books for two days, and it is a fact beyond question that he has swindled our benevolent order out of at least thirty-five thousand dollars.”

“Then he ought to be locked up.”

“If we can lay our hands on him.”

“Why don’t you notify the police?”

“That’s what we will do—if he doesn’t come back pretty soon.”

“We must catch him by all means—for my father’s sake as much as for yours.”

“True, my boy; but if he has really run away he has probably covered his tracks well.”

A half-hour went by, and leaving Frank to watch at the office, Bardwell Mason and his companion went off to interview the police.

“I guess the boss is getting himself in hot water,” said the clerk to Frank, when the two were again left alone.

“It begins to look that way,” answered our hero. “But I don’t feel like saying too much.”

“It’s over that benevolent order affair, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Do you know anything about it?”

“Oh, I heard the boss and Mr. Mason talking about it one day in the office. They had it pretty hot. I made up my mind then matters were coming to a head.”

“What will you do if Mr. Garrison doesn’t come back?”

“Shut up and go home at six o’clock.”

“Will you open up in the morning?”

“The boy does that. He’s out on an errand for me now.”

“Have you any stock on hand—I mean flour and feed?”

“We don’t keep stock any more. We simply sell on commission.”

At this announcement Frank felt more depressed than ever. There would then be nothing to attach, in case Jabez Garrison had really fled. He looked at the office furniture. It was old and dilapidated, and if put up at auction would probably not fetch over twenty or thirty dollars.

“Does Mr. Garrison own any property?”

“Not that I know of. He used to have a house on Walnut Street, but he sold that about a year ago.”

Here was more cause for regret, and Frank heaved a deep sigh. He felt that the news he would carry home would nearly prostrate his parents.

“And just when father is helpless with that crushed foot,” he thought. “It’s too bad! Oh! if only I could catch this Jabez Garrison and make him give up what he has stolen.”

It was after five o’clock when Bardwell Mason returned.

“Have you seen anything of him?” he asked, briefly.

“Nothing whatever,” answered Frank.

“He has flown beyond a doubt.”

“What have you done, Mr. Mason?”

“I have placed the police and a first-class detective on his track.”

At these words the clerk looked up in wonder.

“Do you mean to say Mr. Garrison has run away?” he demanded.

“We think he has, young man—anyway, he is not to be found, and at the place where he boarded he removed the best of his clothing this noon.”

“Was he married?” asked Frank.

“No, he was a bachelor.”

The clerk was now all attention, and asked for some details, which were given to him. He asked what he had best do regarding the offices.

“Better consult the police about that,” said Mr. Mason, and the clerk promised to do so.

“This is rough on me,” he said. “I haven’t been paid last week’s salary, and now I’m out of a job without a minute’s warning.”

“It certainly is rough on you,” said Frank.

The clerk locked up the place and walked off, and Frank and Bardwell Mason also took their departure.

“Mr. Mason, if Mr. Garrison is not found will my father have to make good the amount of the bond on which he went security?” asked our hero, as the pair took themselves to the gentleman’s office.

“Certainly; and he’ll have to make good anyway, unless Garrison pays back what he has appropriated.”

“It will be a great blow to my father.”

“I presume it will be. But that is not my fault, nor the fault of anybody in our order. Your father made a great mistake when he went security for such a slick rascal as Jabez Garrison.”

“Do you think the police will catch him?”

“Possibly. But he may have taken a steamer to some foreign land from which it will be impossible to bring him back.”

Frank hardly knew what to do next, but decided to call on the police himself. At headquarters he was informed that everything possible would be done to find Jabez Garrison.

“Mr. Mason has placed a very shrewd detective on the track,” said an officer to our hero. “He will probably learn something sooner or later.”

Before leaving Philadelphia Frank called at the house where the missing man had boarded. He was met at the door by a sharp-faced woman with a high-pitched voice.

“Yes, I guess he has run away and for good,” she said, tartly. “They say he stole fifty thousand dollars. He owed me for two weeks’ board, and seventy-five cents that I paid only two days ago for his laundry. He was a villain if ever there was one.”

“Didn’t he leave anything behind?”

“Yes, a lot of old clothing and worn-out shoes worth about fifty cents to the junkman. Oh, I wish I could catch hold of him! I’d tear his eyes out!”

“I wish I could get hold of him, too,” returned Frank, and there being nothing more to say he withdrew.