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Somers to give me the last mail deposits. "Get out and follow them," whispered Clayton. "Come to my rooms at eight to-night. Your hundred dollars await you." The agile lad nodded and stole out, springing down the stairs to await the slowly-descending elevator. "Now," growled Clayton, as he viciously snapped the lock of his portmanteau.
Before the last notes of the dog's remonstrance had died away, the oaken stairs in the higher regions of the house creaked under slowly-descending footsteps. In a minute more the first of the female servants made her appearance, with a dingy woolen shawl over her shoulders for the March morning was bleak; and rheumatism and the cook were old acquaintances.
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