meeting that Monday morning, Cross handed Norton the renewal note, and awaited his comments.

"Where did you get this?" Norton demanded, after he had given it a careful examination.

"I don't know that it makes much difference," Cross parried. "These things frequently pass through several hands before they get back home."

"In this particular instance it makes a good deal of difference."

"That's your signature all right, isn't it?" Cross asked complacently. "That's all I'm interested in."

Norton hesitated a moment. The episode of the notes was not developing exactly as he had expected, and he was puzzled. Henry Cross could not sit there so calmly if he had in any way been a party to the forgery.

"As a matter of fact," Norton said slowly "neither signature is genuine."

Cross sprang excitedly from his chair.

"What do you mean?" he cried. "The signatures are forged?"

Norton nodded. "And rather badly done at that. Now you realize the importance of telling me where you got this note. The one which fell due last Friday was also a forgery."

Henry Cross rarely became flustered, but this occasion was a notable exception. He fell back into his chair speechless for the moment, and then made several efforts before the words finally came.

"This... this isn't another one of your bluffs?” he demanded.

"It's serious business.

Four of those notes you

showed me at the house the other night were forgeries."

Cross's face turned white.

"Do you happen to remember the amounts?" "Yes; each note was for $25,000 .

I guess this is the time when we'll have to play the game together whether we want to or not. Where did you get the note?"

"You wait right here."

Cross rose clumsily, and leaving the President's office made for his safe-deposit box. Securing the desired papers, he returned to Norton, and laid on his desk the renewal notes for the three remaining maturities. "How about these?" he demanded.

The pathetic tone in Cross's voice would have amused Norton except for the significance of the affair to him and to the Company.

"Phoney, every one of 'em," he said crisply, after a careful examination; "and the notes they extended were just like 'em. I'm afraid you're in for a pretty loss."

"We'll see about that!" Cross cried, trembling in his excitement. "We'll see whether or not a man is responsible for the acts of his own secretary... Read this!"

"Norton re

"The acts of his own secretary peated slowly, holding the proffered paper in his hand "Look here, Cross, are you crazy or am I?" "Read that," Cross insisted, pointing to the agreement drawn up by Treadway which he had just handed him.

At first the importance of the document was not apparent to Norton. Then its significance became clear, and a wave of anger passed over him, followed by a pain as real as if a blow had been dealt. The whole world had turned against him! His son, his friend Stewart, his trusted superintendent, and now Treadway, on whom he had relied implicitly, and on whom he had rested more than ever since he had forced Richard out of his life! Forgetful of Cross's presence, he bowed his head on his hands and groaned.

"We must go right up to the plant and arrest him," Cross declared, mopping his face with his handkerchief, unmindful of everything except his personal tragedy.

The words brought Norton back to realities. He held up his hand restrainingly.

"There is no haste, Cross; he can't get away. . . Let me think this out, I'm dumfounded."

"Do you acknowledge your responsibility?”

"Don't be a fool! Of course there's no responsibility; but you'd better let me handle it. I'll pledge myself to help you all I can. I've got to think it out."

"You won't let him get away?"

"No," Norton answered wearily; "he must pay the price. Now leave me alone. . . Treadway a criminal! I trusted him. I cared for him. I wished my son was like him! My God!.. Richard at least is honest!"

CHAPTER XIX

B

I

LACK MONDAY" they still call it in Norcross.
Henry Cross found the day dismal enough when

James Norton disclosed to him the fact that he had paid out a princely sum for alleged business paper which was absolutely worthless. Norton felt its dreariness when he returned to the plant.

It was raining hard, as if to average things up for the wonderful Sunday which preceded it. The weather appeared to reflect itself in the strikers. They had been getting more restless each week, and when "Black Monday" opened up in sullen fashion it found them sullen too. But the weather was not wholly responsible. Sunday had been a day of labor for Tony Lemholtz and his aides. James Norton's parting words to Alec Sterling were overheard by one whom the strikers had "planted" in the office, and Tony had not overlooked their value in working the men up to a fighting frenzy.

"He calls us skunks, fellers," Tony yelled from the housetops,.. "the boss calls us skunks! He says we're scared of him. He'll wait 'til our bellies are empty, will he? . . . and then he'll take us back on his own terms. Now will you listen to Alec Sterling, or will you stand up and show yourselves men?"

All day Sunday Tony watched the crowds of men about him grow larger and listen to him with deeper interest. He marked the angry flushes which came into their faces as he talked, and he delighted to goad them on the raw which the experiences of the past few weeks had produced.

On this Monday morning the cold, wet, penetrating east wind settled into their wounds, real and fancied. Alec Sterling now could scarcely find a listener. The men moved about in groups, and there was an unusually large number of personal encounters with the strikebreakers. As James Norton's limousine passed some of the men on its way back from the bank to the plant there were howls and cat-calls, but to the old man inside these meant nothing. His mind was intent upon something else. By noon several of the groups had joined together, with Tony at their head, still skilfully exciting them until there were shouts containing threats, and loud exhortations to "get the boss."

Sterling felt it necessary to acquaint Richard with the conditions. In spite of Olga's protests, the sick man struggled to his feet, relieved to find that his strength was sufficient for this achievement.

"I have your promise to keep me posted?" Richard demanded of Sterling, and the superintendent gave his word.

II

Unmindful of the turmoil outside, the master of Norcross entered his office. Never had it seemed so cheerless, never had he seated himself at the great desk with