"No, I'll watch them doing things," answered Frank, with an assumed lightness of tone.
He strolled about the neat little office, pretending to be interested. It was a dead failure. A lump of lead seemed bearing him down. Frank glanced at his watch. An hour had passed since he had sent Markham on his errand.
"Be back soon, Darry," he said, and went out of the printing office with a dull, sick feeling at heart.
Frank returned to his office. Markham was not there. He went back to the print shop.
"Markham been here yet?" he inquired in a failing voice to Darry.
"Not yet, Frank."
"Then something's wrong," suddenly burst out Frank, unable longer to endure the strain of suspense and dread.
"Why, how pale you are," began Darry, rising from his chair.
"Yes, Darry," said Frank in a quivering tone—"Markham is missing, and with him my mailing lists and over two hundred dollars in cash."
