"
He removed his clothing and got into bed.
The evening had been rather an exciting one,
but the excitement was a pleasurable one, for
he had succeeded in the plan which he and the
bookkeeper had so ingeniously formed and carried
out, and here within reach was the rich
reward after which they had striven. Mr.
Stark was not troubled with a conscience--
that he had got rid of years ago--and he was
filled with a comfortable consciousness of
having retrieved his fortunes when they were on
the wane. So, in a short time he fell asleep,
and slept peacefully. Toward morning, however,
he had a disquieting dream. It seemed
to him that he awoke suddenly from slumber.
and saw Gibbon leaving the room with the tin
box under his arm. He awoke really with
beads of perspiration upon his brow--awoke
to see by the sun streaming in at his window
that the morning was well advanced, and the
tin box was still safe.
"Thank Heaven, it was but a dream!" he murmured.
"I must get up and try once more to open the box."
The keys had all been tried, and had proved
not to fit. Mr. Stark was equal to the emergency.
He took from his pocket a button hook and bent it
so as to make a pick, and after a little experimenting
succeeded in turning the lock. He lifted the lid eagerly,
and with distended eyes prepared to gloat upon the stolen
bonds. But over his face there came a startling change.
The ashy blue hue of disappointment succeeded the glowing,
hopeful look. He snatched at one of the folded slips of paper
and opened it.
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