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Corcoran slept late. He was awakened at eleven by the telephone, through which Nosby’s voice informed him coldly that Mr. Bushmill had arrived and would see him at once. When he rapped at his employer’s door ten minutes later, he found Hallie and her mother also were there, sitting rather sulkily on a sofa. Mr. Bushmill nodded at him coolly but made no motion to shake hands.

“Let’s see that account book,” he said immediately.

Corcoran handed it to him, together with a bulky packet of vouchers and receipts.

“I hear you’ve all been out raising hell,” said Bushmill.

“No,” said Hallie, “only Mama and me.”

“You wait outside, Corcoran. I’ll let you know when I want you.”

Corcoran descended to the lobby and found out from the porter that a train left for Paris at noon. Then he bought a “New York Herald” and stared at the headlines for half an hour. At the end of that time he was summoned upstairs.

Evidently a heated discussion had gone on in his absence. Mr. Nosby was staring out the window with a look of patient resignation. Mrs. Bushmill had been crying, and Hallie, with a triumphant frown on her childish brow, was making a camp stool out of her father’s knee.