The eyes of all were fixed¹ with terror upon the innocent-looking valise which he held in his left hand, and in the mind of all was the terrible thought, Dynamite²!

 

"Well, will you give me the money?" demanded the crank fiercely.

 

"I—I don't think I have as much money in the office," stammered³ the pallid⁴ banker.

 

"That won't work," exclaimed the visitor angrily. "If you can't find it I will send you where you won't need money," and he moved his arm as if to throw the valise on the floor.

 

"I—I'll give you a check," faltered⁵ Luther Rockwell, the banker.

 

"And stop payment on it," said the crank with a cunning look. "No, that won't do."

 

"Give me half an hour to get the money," pleaded Rockwell desperately⁶. "Perhaps twenty minutes will do."

 

"You would send for a policeman," said the intruder. "That won't do, I must have the money now. Or, if you haven't got it, bonds will answer."

 

Luther Rockwell looked helplessly toward the two clerks, but they were even more terrified than he. There was one to whom he did not look for help, and that was the telegraph boy, who stood but three feet from the crank, watching him sharply. For a plan of relief had come into the mind of Mark Mason, who, though he appreciated the danger, was cooler and more self-possessed than any one else in the office.

 

Standing⁷ just behind the crank, so that he did not attract his attention, he swiftly signaled to the clerks, who saw the signal but did not know what it meant. Mark had observed that the dangerous

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