When Mark bade Miss Gilbert good night after ringing the bell at her home, she pressed a bank note into his hand.
"Thank you so much," she said. "Keep the change, and when I want another escort I will send for you."
By the light of the street lamp Mark inspected the bill and found it was a five.
"That will give me over three dollars for myself," he said joyfully. "So the rent is secure."
The next day about two o'clock he was in the office of a prominent banker to whom he had carried a message, when a wild-looking man with light brown hair and wearing glasses, rushed in, and exclaimed dramatically to the astonished banker, "I want a hundred thousand dollars! Give it to me at once, or I will blow your office to atoms."
He pointed significantly to a small carpet bag which he carried in his left hand.
The broker turned pale, and half rose from his chair. He was too frightened to speak, while two clerks writing in another part of the office seemed ready to faint.
The situation was critical. That the wild-eyed visitor was demented, there was hardly a doubt, but his madness was of a most dangerous character.
The eyes of all were fixed with terror upon the innocent-looking valise which he held in his left hand, and in the mind of all was the terrible thought, DYNAMITE!
"Well, will you give me the money?" demanded the crank fiercely.
"I--I don't think I have as much money in the office," stammered the pallid banker.
"That won't work," exclaimed the visitor angrily. "If you can't find it I will send you where you won't need money," and he moved his arm as if to throw the valise on the floor.
"I--I'll give you a check," faltered Luther Rockwell, the banker.
"And stop payment on it," said the crank with a cunning look. "No, that won't do."
"Give me half an hour to get the money," pleaded Rockwell desperately. "Perhaps twenty minutes will do."
"You would send for a policeman," said the intruder. "That won't do, I must have the money now. Or, if you haven't got it, bonds will answer."
Luther Rockwell looked helplessly toward the two clerks, but they were even more terrified than he. There was one to whom he did not look for help, and that was the telegraph boy, who stood but three feet from the crank, watching him sharply. For a plan of relief had come into the mind of Mark Mason, who, though he appreciated the danger, was cooler and more self-possessed than any one else in the office.