“He digged a pit, he digged it deep,
He digged it for a brother;
But oh, alas! he fell into
The pit he digged for another.”

Old Saw.

Page was a little late at the office the next morning and Frye was there ahead of him.

“I was out with young Nason last evening,” he explained, as the old lawyer bade him a rather crusty good morning, “and I overslept.”

“Oh, that is all right,” responded Frye, in an instantaneously sweetened tone, “I am glad you were, and, as I told you, you are wise to cultivate him. I suppose,” he continued with a leer, “that you were buying wine for some of the gay girls?”

Page looked confused. “Well, we went to the theatre, and after that had a late supper,” he explained, “and it was after one before I returned to my room.”

“I don’t care how late you are out, or what you did,” said Frye, still eyeing Page, “so long as you were with young Nason and kept out of the lockup. His father pays me a salary to look after his law business, and his son is the pride of his heart. I trust you understand my meaning. If you don’t feel like work this morning,” he continued suavely, “mount your wheel and take a run out to Winchester and see if that mortgage on the Seaver estate has been satisfied. The exercise and air will do you good.”

Page was nonplussed.

“He has some deep-laid plot in his mind,” he thought as he looked at Frye, who, having delivered this amazing pat, turned at once to his mail. It was all the more amazing because at the start he had been assured that punctuality and good conduct on his part were obligatory. Now he was to all intents and purposes not only told he might lark it with young Nason all he chose, but even urged to do so. He was glad to escape the office, however, for his head felt full of bees, and thanking his employer for the permission, he quickly left the city behind him. The crisp October air and exercise soon cured his headache, and in a measure drove away some of the self-reproaches at his own foolish conduct of the night before.

The errand at Winchester was attended to, and then, after taking a glass of bromo-seltzer, he headed back for the city, taking another course. By the time he reached town he was faint from hunger, for he had eaten no breakfast. A good dinner restored him to his natural self-possession, and then he went to the office.

For a week he reproached himself every time he thought how much his escapade had cost, and felt too ashamed to answer Alice’s letter. When he did he assured that innocent sister that he was saving all he could and should send more money as soon as possible. Frank called twice, and the second time urged him to join the club, to which Page assented.

“It will serve as a place to spend a lonesome evening,” he thought. It was a wise step, for it is during lonesome hours, if ever, that one’s steps are turned toward evil associations.

Several times Frye had made casual inquiries as to the progress of his intimacy with young Nason, all of which led Page to wonder what his object was and why it concerned him. At last, one day just at closing time, and after he had told the office boy he might go, Frye let a little light into that enigma.

“Sit down a moment, Mr. Page,” he remarked, as the latter was preparing to leave; “I have a proposition of an important nature to make to you,” and then as he fixed his merciless eyes on his clerk and began to slowly rub his hands together, he continued: “You have been nearly three months in my employ, Mr. Page, and have fulfilled your duties satisfactorily. I think the time has come when I may safely enlarge them a little. As I told you, John Nason pays me a yearly retainer to attend to all his law business. I have reason to feel he is not entirely satisfied to continue that arrangement, and I am forced to find some way to bring a little pressure to bear on him in order that he may see it is for his interest to still retain me. Now I believe John Nason is not entirely happy in his home relations and is leading a double life, and that a certain Miss Maud Vernon, a cashier in his store, receives a share of his attentions. She and a supposed aunt of hers occupy a flat in a block owned by Nason, and while they are never seen in public together, gossip links their names. What I want is for you to find out, through your acquaintance with the Nasons, just what bond there is between the elder Nason and this Miss Vernon, and report to me. I do not intend to use the knowledge for any illegal purpose, but merely as a leverage to retain Nason’s business. I am aware that to prosecute your inquiries discreetly by means of your intimacy with young Nason will require more money than I am paying you, and therefore, if I can depend on you to do a little detective work, I shall from now on increase your salary from seventy-five to one hundred and seventy-five dollars. What do you say?”

The first impulse that Page felt was to absolutely refuse, there and then, to have anything to do with Frye’s nefarious scheme, but the thought of his situation, the unpaid debt at home, and the certainty that a refusal would mean a loss of his position conquered his pride and kept him silent. For a moment he reflected, trying hard to see a way out of the dilemma; and then said:

“It is rather a hard task you ask, Mr. Frye, for I am not accustomed to the rôle of detective, but I am in your employ, and as long as I am I will do the best I can for your interests.”

It was a temporizing reply, and Frye so construed it at once.

“I must insist, if you accept my offer,” he said, “that you give me your promise to do your best to earn the money. It doesn’t pay to be too squeamish in this world,” he continued, in a soothing tone; “all business is to a certain extent a game of extortion-a question of do the other fellow or he will do you.” Then arising, and holding out a skinny hand to grasp Page’s, as if to bind the bargain, he added: “I shall expect you to keep faith with me, Mr. Page,” and the interview ended.

When Albert entered the dining-room at his boarding-place that night he felt as if his face must show guilt, and when later he met Frank at the club that feeling increased. He was preoccupied and morose, and Frank, noticing his frame of mind, tried to cheer him.

“You look as if you had been given a facer, old man,” he said. “What is the matter? Has Frye been calling you down for something?”

Page looked at his friend a moment, and the impulse to make a clean breast of it, and relieve his feelings, was strong, but he did not.

“I do not like Frye,” he said instead, “and the more I see of him the less I like him. At times he makes me feel as if he was a snake ready to uncoil and strike. Did you ever notice his eyes, and the way he has of rubbing his hands when talking?”

“I have,” was the answer, “and he has the most hideous eyes I ever saw in a human being. They look like a cat’s in the dark. Dad told me once he saw Frye look at a witness he was cross-examining in such a way that the poor fellow forgot what his name was, and swore black was white. Those eyes are vicious weapons, they say, and he uses them to the utmost when he wants to scare a witness.”

“They make me feel creepy every time I look at them,” said Albert, and then, as if anxious to change the subject, he added, “Let’s leave here, Frank, and you come with me to my room, where we can have a quiet talk together. I am in the dumps to-night, and want to unbosom my troubles to you.”