"Yes; but come along! I tell you I'm in a hurry!" snapped Mr. Checkynshaw.

"He can't go now, pa," interposed the daughter. "He must finish dressing my hair."

"He shall return in a short time, Elinora," replied the banker.

"He shall not go!" added she, decidedly, and with an emphasis worthy of an only daughter.

"Leo!" murmured the poor barber, apparently crushed by the terrible charge against the boy.

"No. 3 Phillimore Court, you say," continued the banker, as he moved towards the door, yielding to the whim of the spoiled child.

The barber did not answer. His eyes rolled up in his head; he staggered and fell upon the floor. Elinora shrieked in terror, and was hurried from the room by her father.

CHAPTER V.

LEO MAGGIMORE.

Andre Maggimore had an apoplectic fit. Perhaps the immense dinner he had eaten in the shop had some connection with his malady; but the shock he received when the banker told him that Leo was implicated in the robbery of the safe was the immediate exciting cause. André was a great eater, and took but little exercise in the open air, and was probably predisposed to the disease. The dark shadow of trouble which the banker's words foreboded disturbed the circulation, and hastened what might otherwise have been longer retarded.

Doubtless Mr. Checkynshaw thought it was very inconsiderate in André Maggimore to have an attack of apoplexy in his house, in the presence of his nervous daughter, and especially when he was in such a hurry to ascertain what had become of his valuable private papers. If the banker was excited before, he was desperate now. He rang the bells furiously, and used some strong expressions because the servants did not appear as soon as they were summoned.

Lawrence had gone for the carriage, and one of the female servants was sent for the doctor. Mr. Checkynshaw handed his daughter over to her mother, who also thought it was very stupid for the barber to have a fit before such a nervous miss as Elinora. The banker returned to the room in which André lay. He turned him over, and wished he was anywhere but in his house, which was no place for a sick barber. But the doctor immediately came to his relief. He examined the patient; André might live, and might die—a valuable opinion; but the wisest man could have said no more.

Mr. Checkynshaw could not afford to be bothered by the affair any longer. He had pressing business on his hands. He directed the doctor to do all that was necessary, and to have his patient removed to his own residence as soon as practicable. After assuring himself that Elinora had neither been burned to death nor frightened to death, he stepped into the carriage, and ordered the driver to take him to No. 3 Phillimore Court.

The banker was very much annoyed by the awkwardness of the circumstances. He judged from what André had said, that he was much attached to his foster-son, and he concluded that Leo was equally interested in his foster-father. It was not pleasant to tell the boy that the barber had fallen in a fit, and might die from the effects of it; and if he did, Leo might not be able to give him the information he needed. It would confuse his mind, and overwhelm him with grief. Mr. Checkynshaw could not see why poor people should grieve at the sickness or death of their friends, though it was a fact they did so, just like rich people of sensibility and cultivation.

He thought of this matter as the driver, in obedience to his mandate, hurried him to Phillimore Court. If he told Leo, there would be an awkward scene, and he would be expected to comfort the poor boy, instead of worming out of him the dry facts of the robbery. If he had ever heard of Maggie, he had forgotten all about her. Had he thought of her, the circumstances would have appeared still more awkward. He had already decided not to inform Leo of the sudden illness of his father. When he reached the humble abode of the barber, and his summons at the door was answered by the fair Maggie, he was the more determined not to speak of the calamity which had befallen them.

Leo was at home; but it would be disagreeable to examine him in his own house, and in the presence of Maggie. He changed his tactics at once, and desired the boy to ride up to his office with him. Leo wondered what Mr. Checkynshaw could want of him at that time of day. It was strange that a person of his consequence had thought of him at all; and even "Mr. Hart" had proved to be a false prophet. He concluded that the banker had discharged Fitz, and needed a boy at once; but the gentleman was too imperative to be denied, and Leo did not venture to object to anything he proposed. He followed the great man into the carriage, and regarded it as a piece of condescension on his part to permit a poor boy like him to ride in the same vehicle with him.

Mr. Checkynshaw did not speak till the carriage stopped before the banking-house in State Street; and Leo was too much abashed by the lofty presence of the great man to ask any question, or to open the subject which he supposed was to be discussed in the private office. He followed the banker into that apartment, thinking only of the manner in which he should decline to enter the service of his intended employer before the completion of his school year.

"Burnet," said Mr. Checkynshaw, opening the window of the banking-room.

The old cashier entered, and bowed deferentially to the head of the house.

"Send for Mr. Clapp," added the banker; and Burnet bowed and retired, like an approved courtier.

Leo was not at all familiar with the police records, and had not learned that Mr. Clapp was the well-known constable,—the "Old Reed" or the "Old Hayes" of his day and generation,—and the name had no terrors to him.

"Boy, what is your name?" demanded Mr. Checkynshaw, when the door had closed behind the cashier.

"Leopold Maggimore, sir," replied he.

"Leopold," repeated the banker.

"I am generally called Leo, sir."

"Did the barber—your father, if he is your father—send you to my office to-day?"

"Yes, sir; he sent me, and I came; but you were not in."

"Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I was told you would not be back again to-day, sir."

"What time were you here?"

"At half past two, sir. There was some trouble in the entry at the time. A gentleman had a young fellow by the collar, and was putting him out of the building."

"Just so. Who was the gentleman?"

"I don't know, sir; I didn't see his face."

"I was that gentleman."

"I didn't know it, sir. It was just half past two, and I wanted to be on time."

"Who told you I should not be back again?" demanded the banker more sternly than he had before spoken.

"Mr. Hart," replied Leo, who regarded his informant as excellent authority.

"Mr. Hart!" exclaimed Mr. Checkynshaw, staring into the bright eyes of Leo to detect any appearance of deception.

The banker prided himself upon his shrewdness. He believed that, if there was any person in the world who was peculiarly qualified to expose the roguery of a suspected individual, he was that person. In conducting the present examination he only wanted Derastus Clapp for the terror of his name, rather than his professional skill as a detective.

Mr. Checkynshaw believed that he had intrapped his victim. Mr. Hart could not have told Leo that the head of the house would not return to the office that day, for the very simple reason that Mr. Hart was dead and gone. The old style of the firm was retained, but the Hart was gone out of it. The boy was telling a wrong story, and the banker laid his toils for unveiling the details of a gigantic conspiracy. Fitz lived somewhere in the vicinity of High Street,—Mr. Checkynshaw did not know where, for it would not be dignified for a great man like him to know where his clerk resided,—and it was more than possible that Leo and he were acquainted. Very likely the innocent-looking