By BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG
The telephone bell in the outer office rang, and opening the switch at the side of my desk I took up my stand-'phone and answered:
"Hello. Well?"
"Hello, is this Duncan & Betts?" inquired a man's voice with a slight foreign accent.
"Yes."
"I want to speak wit' Mister Lawrence Duncan."
"This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?"
"T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson of 196 Gramercy Park. Yust now while I was eating my breakwast in my rooms over my real estate office, I was called to my telephone by Mr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e Municipal Bank. He is a young man who wants to marry my daughter Marie, and he called me up to tell me t'at when he opened t'e wault a little while ago he found t'at since he closed it t'e night before a package wit' more t'an a million dollars in bonds was gone. He is responsible for t'e wault and no one else, and he called me up to tell me, and say he did not take it, to tell Marie t'at, but he wit'drew his request for her hand. Now, t'en, Mr. Duncan, I don't care one tam about him, but my daughter must not be made to come in in t'is case wit' t'e noos-papers or t'e gossip, so I want you to go over to t'e bank and see him and help him out in every way, yust so he keep his mout' shut about Marie, and if t'ey lock him up I want t'at she don't get to see him or no such foolishness. I send you my check for five hundred t'is morning, and I want to know all about what you do, at my house to-night. Will you do it?"
"Yes, I will go over at once," I answered.
"T'at is all. Good-by—"