response from the surprised son of the dead millionaire.

"Why--why--I'm glad to see you, Mr. Shirley--Who sent you?" he
began.

Shirley registered complete surprise. "Sent me, my dear Van
Cleft? Who should send me? For what? It just happened that I
was walking up the Avenue, and to-morrow night I plan to give a
little farewell supper to Hal Bingley, class of '03, at the club
You knew him in College? I thought you might like to come."

"Step in the library," requested Van Cleft, weakly. "Sit down,
Mr. Shirley--I'm upset to-night."

He mopped his brow with a damp handkerchief, and Shirley's big
heart went out to the young chap, as he saw the haggard lines
of horror and grief on his usually pleasant face.

"What's the trouble, old man? Anything I can do?"

"My father just died this evening, and I'm in awful trouble--I
thought it was the Coroner, or the police--" he bit his tongue as
the last words escaped him. Shirley put his hand on Van Cleft's
shoulder, with an inspiring firmness.

"Tell me how I can help. You've had a big shock. Confide in me,
and I pledge you my word, I'll keep it safer than any one you
could go to."

Van Cleft groped as a drowning man, at this opportunity. He